Heart of the People
by Flamewing80
Summary: At long last, matters have calmed down for Inquisitor Nimwen and everything is going her way. Solas is back with her and their daughter. Now, all that's left is for both them to meet her clan. Not all will go as planned. A son returns. Conflict arises in old family feuds and threatens to turn Nimwen's world back on its head. Post Trespasser and squeal to Blood of the People.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age is owned by Bioware and EA games.

 **Warning:** There are spoilers from _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ , the DLC _Trespasser_ , and the book posted on HerenyaHope's account titled _Blood of the People_ in this book. There are some very major ones if you've never played the games or read the first book in the series.

 **Flamewing:** Hi, this is the second book in a series. Book one is called _Blood of the People_ and can be found on HerenyaHope's account. Herenya and I are co-writers in this series. I write: Solas, Mahvir/ Dirthamen, his ravens, Teren, Theon, and a few character who I will mention only after they enter in the story (otherwise I am giving big spoilers).

 **Herenya:** Hey guys, you stoked for book two? Just in case you're confused, the first story, Blood of the People, can be found on my page (HerenyaHope) in this book I write Nimwen, Lori, Milly, Sinderon, and some minor characters and people I can't name yet because, spoilers. Hope you guys enjoy!

 **Both:** We hope you enjoy this story. Favs and reviews are much loved!

* * *

Cold seeped through Dirthamen's thin, tattered robes. His breath rose in a fine plume of mist. The cold was nothing compared to the pain bleeding into his heart. He stood at the edge of the elvhen alienage in Denerim, eyes locked on the mourners. Each were paying their final respects to great elvhen.

Valendrian had passed during the night. Falling asleep to never open his eyes again. Pain stabbed deeper into Dirthamen. He had been beside the old elf until the very end, trying, alongside Shianni, to ease Valendrian's pain.

Now, he felt alone. Lost. Dirthamen closed his eyes and let the pain wrap around him. He wanted to say goodbye, but couldn't bring himself to move closer. Until the past few months he had been a stranger in this alienage. All those he had known, outside of Valendrian, were long dead. Time was cruel to those locked in a moment of it.

He opened his eyes to see a red-headed, female elf walking towards him. "Shianni," it was hard to speak just her name in greeting. His throat felt closed off. He wanted to ask if the sister had been summoned and the preparations made for the pyrior. He couldn't.

"Thank you for being here," she said quietly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there were shadows beneath them. She looked like she'd aged overnight. "I know-I know it brought him comfort."

"He was much loved," Dirthamen whispered, watching the mourners. His throat closed again before he could ask. He blotted out the images which would tell him. He didn't want to know through his gift. He didn't want to see his-his adoptive son burned twice over.

"It won't be long until we arrange the service. Valendrian was well respected even outside the alienage, at least enough for the chantry to take interest in the funeral." Shianni dabbed at her eyes. "I was wondering if maybe...you'd like to say some words during the service?"

"My thanks, _Hahren_ Shianni, but it would be wiser if I didn't. I am a stranger here." His eyes burned with unshed tears. He forced back the urge to cry. There would be time for that later. He could break down alone.

Shianni looked like she wanted to object, but no doubt the look in Dirthamen's eyes stilled her tongue. "Very well. Regardless, you are invited to the service, of course. I'm sure that's what he would have wanted." Shianni sighed. "I must go; I have an alienage to keep in order."

Dirthamen watched her go. The first few snowflakes started to fall. He looked up at the sky. Frozen tears. He closed his eyes and let the cold the snow wash over him. He-he wanted to go to the service. And, in the same instant, the thought of watching his son be burned… he would go.

He looked towards the mourners. Then, he would vanish and make his way to where his last child was. He wanted to see one of the children he had raised happy, well, and alive. But even she wouldn't live forever. His stomach twisted, heart screaming in pain at the thoughts racing through his mind.

The day after the service came. Without a word to anyone, Dirthamen left the alienage and started to walk. He would make it to the clan then-then he could sleep in the nightmare which was his life.

* ~ x ~ *

"The viscount will see you now."

Nimwen still wasn't used to that title being associated with Varric. Still, she nodded to the seneschal as she stood and made her way to Varric's office. Nimwen pushed open the door to find the dwarf reading a document, his legs propped up on his desk.

"Blue, glad to see you, take a seat," Varric smirked.

"Something tells me that document is just riveting," Nimwen teased as she sat down.

Varric snorted. "Yeah, real page turner." He rolled up the parchment and tucked it away. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Well," Nimwen sighed. "It's Solas."

"What's Chuckles done this time?"

"He hasn't done anything. It's that...I'm not sure he's happy."

"What are you talking about? He's got a lovely, and very rich, wife, a great kid and another on the way-"

"I know, I know," Nimwen cut in. Subconsciously her hand went to her stomach. She had yet to show, but she could still sense the new life growing within her. "I mean I don't think he's happy _here,_ in Kirkwall."

"I hate to break it to you, but nobody's happy in Kirkwall."

Nimwen groaned. "Varric…"

"Calm down," the dwarf said, holding his hands up. "Listen, you just gotta remember this is a guy who spent most of his time eating twigs and talking to rocks, er, spirits, whatever. City life is something he's probably still adjusting to."

"But what if he never adjusts?" Nimwen asked, worried. "I love him and I don't want him to be unhappy, but we have a child, and are going to have another. They need stability."

"I hear you, but I think you need to talk to Chuckles on this one."

"Oh, no," Nimwen shook her head. "If I even bring it up he's just going to deny there's a problem, or assure he has it covered when we both know that isn't the case."

"That's him all right," Varric chuckled. "Say, since you think he's been a bit out of it, why don't you tell him he's invited to Wicked Grace this week? I know he's a devil at cards and Hawke's been wanting to find someone who can pose a challenge to him."

"I'll tell him," Nimwen replied. This sounded good. Maybe a night out was just what Solas needed. "I'll be going now. Thank you, Varric."

"No problem, Blue." The dwarf smiled gently. "If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me, and don't let ol' Bran ever tell you I'm too busy."

Nimwen grinned. "I won't."

"Good, now scram. I have letters from the Merchant's Guild to ignore and wars to stop."

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "As you wish, Viscount Tethras."

"No, not you too!"

Nimwen chuckled as she left the office. She left the Viscount's Keep and began the trek back to her estate. Estate… one would think after having an entire fortress to her name that an estate would be nothing to her. However, the thought was still as jarring as being known as Comtesse Lavellan. Nimwen found she liked Kirkwall well enough. At least, it wasn't the festering hellhole Varric had made it out to be, and she had yet to be mugged, so that was a plus.

She entered the more affluent area of hightown and near the entrance to her house. "I'm home!" she called out as she came inside. She entered the foyer and found Lori on the steps of the stairs with Nummy.

"Hi, _mamae_ ," the girl waved.

"Hello, Lori," Nimwen smiled. "Do you know where daddy is?"

"He in liberry," Lori replied.

" _Ma serannas, da'len_." Nimwen left the girl with her nug and took a left to the home's library. "Solas?" she called quietly as she stepped inside.

"Yes, _vhenan_?" Solas looked up from the table. The table had a line of sight to the room Lori was playing in. There was a book out on the table that looked to be what he had been reading.

"What are you up to?" she asked, walking to his side.

"Nothing too important." He closed the book and moved it so she couldn't see what he had been reading. "How'd the meeting with the viscount go?"

"He's yet to drown himself in paperwork," Nimwen joked. "He has also given you the great honor of being invited to this week's Wicked Grace game."

"An honor I will have to pass on." Solas stood and moved to the bookcase. "You are well aware I don't gamble anymore. And, no, I am not counting the time with Thom as officially gambling."

Nimwen sighed. "Come on, you might have fun," she said. "And I'm certain Varric wouldn't let things get out of hand, especially if the Guard-Captain is playing as well."

" _Ir abelas, vhenan_. It isn't a matter of it getting out of hand, but a certainty it will if I go." He pulled down another book. "Let me just put it this way, the last time I really gambled, Orzammar was calling its guards on myself and a friend of mine."

"Okay, that's a story you're going to tell me later," she laughed. "But, all right, maybe cards are a no go. Still, we should do something fun. You've been so tense lately, and who knows how many free nights we'll have after this one comes," she said, patting her stomach.

Solas sighed and turned to her. He pulled her into an embrace. "If it is that important to you, I will go to this card game and just keep myself in check." He kissed her.

She leaned into the kiss. " _Ma serannas, vhenan_ ," she said once they parted. "I'm curious to see if you can beat Hawke. Apparently the man is a champion in more ways than one."

"I suppose we will see." Solas released her and set the book down on the table, face down so she couldn't read the title.

She raised a brow. "Is there a reason you're hiding that? I hope it's not a naughty book, _vhenan_ ," she teased.

The tips of his ears turned red. "W-what?" he spluttered. Then he took a deep breath and held out the book to her. The book's title was: _All you need to know about City Life._

Nimwen blinked. "Well, it's not a naughty book."

"I would hope not," Solas muttered.

"I found chapter two to be the most helpful. All the human titles made no sense to me, and it has that nifty little chart."

" _Ma serannas_ , but that isn't the reason I am reading it." He rubbed his head. "And human titles are very similar to those used in Elvhenan," he confessed.

"Listen, Solas, you're not the only one who's trying to get used to all this," Nimwen said gently. She took his hands in hers. "I know you've been a bit uneasy about moving to Kirkwall, and I'm thankful you're trying this with me. I never thought I would end up in a city either, so we're both learning."

" _Vhenan_ , it's not that," he stopped and shook his head. "I am trying and know it's also a change for you." He set down the book on top of the other which was still face down on the table.

"Then, what is it?" Nimwen asked. "I want to help, but I need to know what's wrong."

"It can't be fixed." He looked away from her. "This world is silent. There are no songs."

"Come again?" Now, Nimwen was worried. "What do you mean?"

Solas took a deep breath. "You've heard the way Cole used to speak, how he told the group he didn't need to eat or sleep because the Old Songs pulled him?" He moved a little way from Nimwen, his back to her now.

"Yes, though I never really understood what he meant," Nimwen admitted. "Are you saying you heard them too? These Old Songs?"

"Before the Veil, magic was woven together, each new spell weaving into the older ones in an unending symphony. The sound is but an echo so distant now I only hear it when in the Fade and even then it's faint, forgotten. This world is silent. It feels _dead_."

She felt a strike in her chest. "I… I see." She tried not to show how the comment affected her. She knew it was wishful thinking to believe he would so soon forget his goal for restoring Elvhenan, and she certainly knew he would still miss the old world. She knew she and the children would never measure up to the wonders he knew. " _Ir abelas_ , I wish I could understand what you feel, so you wouldn't suffer alone," she said.

" _Vhenan_ ," - Solas turned to her - "that isn't want I meant. I am not aiming to return what I was doing four months ago. It's just an adjustment. Like I am a child learning to walk all over again. I didn't want to worry you with this. _Ir abelas_."

"No, no, worry me with this, let me worry over you," Nimwen insisted. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I want you to be honest with me, _vhenan_. Don't ever feel like you have to hide things from me. I want to help you however I can, no matter how big or small my contributions are, okay?"

" _Ma serannas, vhenan_." Solas kissed her. Then looked towards the room Lori played in.

"Want to make sure she hasn't set anything on fire?" Nimwen teased.

"Just checking she's still there. She did sneak out the first week we were here," he reminded Nimwen.

"Don't remind me," Nimwen groaned. "Thank goodness Hawke decided then to welcome us. Who knows where she would have gone if hadn't found her."

Solas's expression changed. He released Nimwen and moved out into the main room.

Nimwen sighed and looked down at her belly. "What are we doing?" she asked, rubbing her stomach. As suspected, she got no answer. She straightened up and left the library.

Solas was looking at the window over the fireplace, his eyes narrowed. "I thought I felt…" he trailed off.

"Felt what?" Nimwen asked.

" _Mamae!_ Daddy!" Lori came bounding in, Nummy in tow.

"Yes, _da'vhenan_?" Solas looked away from the window to the little girl.

"Nummy pretty now, look!" Lori picked up the nug and showed her parents.

"Oh, goodness." Nimwen laughed.

The poor nug had a bright smear of pink lipstick on his snout, along with blush on his cheeks and above his beady eyes. The look was all tied together with one of Nimwen's necklaces and one of her scarves wrapped around his body like a dress.

Solas sighed. "You got into the wardrobe again, didn't you, _da'vhenan_?"

"He pretty," Lori giggled.

Nimwen smiled. "Did Nummy want to have a makeover?"

"Uh-huh, he love it." Lori looked down at the nug. "Right, Nummy?"

Nummy let out a tiny snort.

Solas gave her a small smile. "He looks pretty," he conceded then whispered to Nimwen, "I will go clean the room." With that he headed up the stairs.

"Say, Lori, why don't we give Nummy a bath?" Nimwen asked.

"But-but I make him pretty!" Lori pouted.

"We can use bubbles."

Lori gasped. "Bubbles? Yay, bubbles!" Seeming to forget about the nug's makeover, the little girl hopped around excited for bubbles.

Nimwen shook her head. _'I hope the next one is as easy to please,_ ' she prayed. Those thoughts also made her wonder how she and Solas were going to tell Lori about her new sibling. The couple were still getting used to the idea of a second child themselves, and had yet to come up with a way to inform their daughter.

Nimwen picked up Nummy and took Lori's hand as she led the girl upstairs. As they passed by the master bedroom, Nimwen could hear shuffling and things being moved around. "What's the damage?" she asked jokingly.

Solas looked up from replacing a few items in the wardrobe. "Better than the last time she got into the wardrobe," he stated. His pale gaze flickered over the room. He had gotten most of it picked up.

"Perhaps we should place wards on the wardrobe," Nimwen smirked.

Solas grunted. He picked up the last few items.

Nimwen rolled her eyes and continued down the hall towards the wash room. Having never had a bathtub until the Inquisition moved to Skyhold, Nimwen was surprised when she found the estate had one, since before she thought they were reserved for only the highest nobility. It was a bronze colored tub that sat in the center of the room. However, they would not be bathing Nimmy in it, since the nug would most likely drown in it. Instead Nimwen took the wash basin from the counter and placed it on the floor.

"Now, Lori, promise me you'll actually help and not just make a mess," she said as she used her magic to fill the basin with frost.

"Okay." Lori nodded, watching her mother at work.

Once the basin was filled to the brim with snow, Nimwen used a fire spell to slowly melt the ice into water. It was a trick she made up after realizing hauling buckets of water up the stairs each time she or someone else wanted a bath was more effort than she would prefer, and this way she always had a warm bath ready.

"Okay, water's ready," she said after testing the water's heat with her hand. She unwrapped the scarf from around the nug and gently placed the squirming creature in the basin. "Why don't you give this scarf to daddy so he can put it away?" Nimwen asked.

"Oki doki!" Lori saluted. She took the scarf and quickly toddled out of the room like a soldier on a mission.

Nimwen shook her head. Even if it could be draining, she would always adore how enthusiastic Lori could get over the simplest things. She reached for the bath liquid on the edge of the tub and poured a bit in the water. "Don't worry, we'll get this off you," Nimwen said to Nummy. She smiled when the animal nibbled at her fingers. "I'll never understand how people can eat you," she said.

"You've never had to eat it before. When there's nothing else to eat, they're not too bad," Solas stated as he entered the room. "Lori took this into the bedroom." He lifted one of the boxes of powdered soup.

"Wasn't that on the upper shelf of the cupboard?" Nimwen asked. "How in the world did she get it?"

"I suspect she climbed, _vhenan_." Solas moved over to the cupboard and replaced the box.

Nimwen sighed. "I can barely keep up with her when she runs, now she's climbing? At this rate who knows what trouble she'll get into?"

"Hmm." Solas turned to Nimwen. "At least she hasn't figured out how to build a ladder out of stone. When it gets there I will worry more." He glanced towards the door. "Lori, were you not supposed to be helping your _mamae_?"

"Oh, yeah!" Lori was at Nimwen's side, looking up expectantly. "What I do?"

"Take this cloth and wash his back," Nimwen said as she handed the girl the soapy washcloth. "But, be gentle, not too hard."

"Gentle," Lori repeated. She sat crossed legged in front of the basin and started to rub the nug's back with the cloth. "Like this?"

"Very good," Nimwen said after making sure the nug didn't appear to be in distress.

Solas leaned against the wall. When Nimwen glanced at him, it was to see his expression soft as it was only for the two of them when in moments like this or tender moments.

Nimwen patted her stomach and nodded at Lori, silently asking if perhaps now was the time to tell their daughter the news.

Solas blinked and bowed his head.

Nimwen took a breath, preparing herself. "Say, Lori?" she began. "How would you feel about having a younger sibling?"

Lori stopped sculpting Nummy a crown of bubbles and turned to her mother. "What you mean?"

"Would you like to have a little brother or a sister?"

Lori put a finger to her mouth, getting suds on her lips. "I get sister?" she asked.

"You just might."

Lori's eyes widened. "Huh?"

Nimwen turned to Solas. "Want to explain?"

Solas knelt down behind Lori and drew her into an embrace. "You might get either a brother or a sister, _da'vhenan_ ," he started. "We won't know until your sibling is born."

"Really?!" Lori squealed and latched her arms around Solas's neck. "When you buy it?!"

Solas chuckled. "That isn't how it works, _da'vhenan_. You see," he started, "your sibling isn't bought, but is growing in your _mamae_."

Lori furrowed her brow in confusion. "But it a baby, not plant."

Nimwen held a hand over her mouth as she hid her laughter. "You're right, _da'len_ , babies aren't plants, but they still have to grow, and they grow in their _mamae's_ tummy. You did too."

"Nuh-uh." Lori shook her head. "I no plant."

A small breath escaped Solas. He lifted Lori off the ground. "Then how come you're getting so big if you're not growing, _da'vhenan_?"

"I dunno." Lori shrugged.

Solas set her down. "You will one day." He gave her a small, gentle smile.

Nimwen felt a warmth in her chest. It still felt like a dream, seeing Solas with their daughter, in a home with another child on the way. It was a life she never thought could be possible, and when her thoughts turned to the one who helped make it happen, she felt an emptiness in her heart.

"Come, Lori, let's get Nummy rinsed off," she said, doing her best to hide her sudden sadness for fear of spoiling the tender moment.

Solas stood. He backed away to watch them once more.

* * *

 **Flamewing:** Updates are going to be very Monday after chapter 1. Or, at least, every Monday until I run out of the buffer I have for edited chapters. It won't happen for a few weeks and I am hoping to get more chapters edited.


	2. Chapter 2

Solas kept his expression even. He admitted this was fun and, in the same moment, rather dull because it didn't involve dwarven ale. He kept his gaze locked on Hawke and Varric.

"Feeling the heat, Hawke?" the dwarf teased his companion.

"I'm not done, yet," Hawke replied, even as his brow furrowed the slightest bit. Upon their first meeting Solas found Tuomas Hawke to be a polite, if serious man, with a rather wry sense of humor.

Solas cocked an eyebrow. He admired the confidence, but the game was already won. Solas smiled, an almost sly smile, a trick which had unnerved and won many a game. "Are you certain of that?"

"What's this, someone finally manage to do you in, Hawke?" asked the Guard-Captain, who folded a while back.

"Never thought I'd see the day," added Fenris.

"I'm loving the faith from all of you, truly I'm touched," Hawke replied, sarcasm dripping from his words.

The white haired elf let out a soft chuckle, and sipped at his wine.

"Are you winning?" Nimwen whispered to Solas.

"Now, why would I say if I am or am not, _vhenan_?" Solas whispered back. He turned his gaze back on Hawke, keeping his expression calm. Gambling was like a Game. Most of it involved tricks and manipulating your opponent into thinking they had lost even if they had the best hand in the world.

Hawke met his gaze unfazed, his dark blue eyes calm and collected. "Are you going to draw, or pass?"

Solas looked at his hand moved one card to the table before drawing a new one. He turned his gaze back on Hawke. "I do believe, draw."

"All right then." Hawke reached for the deck and took a card. He looked at the card and grunted. "Angel of death, time to show the hands."

"Ooh, this is exciting, who will win?" Merrill giggled.

Solas lowered the cards to the table, careful to keep one hidden in case the dudd hand would prove worse than Hawke's despite being a good hand.

Hawke lowered his cards as well, and his eyes widened upon seeing Solas's hand.

Varric let out a whistle. "Sorry, Hawke, looks like the newcomer's got you beat."

"I…" Hawke looked back and forth between Solas and the cards on the table. When it became apparent the cards weren't going to magically change, the dark haired man slouched back in his chair. "Huh, well, this is a first."

"Solas is quite good," Nimwen explained. She turned to Solas, a small smile on her face.

Solas bowed his head to Hawke. "A good game, Ser Hawke." Though rather dull without the ale.

"Agreed." Hawke extended his hand across the table. "Glad the person who took my coin had skills like yours, Solas. Or do you prefer Comte?"

"Solas." Solas had to fight a scowl and he glanced towards Varric. The fact Varric called him "chuckles" still didn't make much sense to him. And, in all honesty, the dwarf was the only one to get away with nicknaming him. He didn't want a title added to his name now as well.

"And for the record, I prefer Nimwen," Nimwen said politely.

Varric sighed. "Listen to you two, not taking advantage of your titles."

"Perhaps they are simply humble about their position," Aveline said. "Unlike a certain somebody."

Solas leaned back in his seat, content to listen to this group's idle banter.

"Who, _me_?" Varric put a hand to his chest. "Captain, I am quite offended."

"Being Viscount doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. It's a job, Varric."

"When have I ever abused my power?"

"You gave the key to the harbor to a friend on a whim."

"Blue is quite trustworthy, isn't that right?" the dwarf asked Nimwen.

"I still don't see why you gave it to me, it's just sitting in a desk drawer," said Nimwen.

"Why does she get the key to the harbor?" Hawke asked. "I don't get one?"

"You have the key to the hearts of everyone in Kirkwall," Varric responded with faux sincerity.

Nimwen chuckled. "Would you like it, Hawke?"

"Now they're trading it," Aveline groaned.

"Relax, you're starting to sound like Bran," Varric smirked.

The space around Solas heated in a sudden wave as the Veil shuddered around him. His ears rang. The world seemed to buckle. A moment passed as the world seemed to disconnect from all reality. He couldn't see, couldn't hear. What was real?

Solas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He drew air in until it filled his lungs and forced himself to focus on what was around him. Where he was, the chair under him, the sounds of idle conversation. He was in _this_ world.

"Solas?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

Solas opened his eyes. "Yes, _vhenan_?" he asked, voice even and steady. She couldn't know he was experiencing the same issues Cole had from time to time. She couldn't know how he knew what to tell Cole that time. He couldn't worry her over something so trivial as trying to connect more with this world. It had been something which was bearable when he had thought on returning this world and Fade to the world he had known. Now… while the tremors were easier to ignore, it was still hard when a large on like that happened.

"Are you all right? You look ill."

"Did you have the meat pie?" Merrill asked. "I wouldn't recommend it; I don't really think it's meat."

"No," Solas stated. "I didn't have the meat pie." He stood. "I am fine, _vhenan_ , I just need some air." He strode from The Hanged Man without a backwards look. The cool night greeted him and he took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It never seemed as sharp as it had in his youth. This world wasn't as sharp, but it was the one Nimwen and Lori lived in. He closed his eyes remembering the images of the future where they had been destroyed in his attempts to recreate the world he had known.

"Solas." Nimwen approached him, her dark blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders to keep out the crisp night air. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Solas turned her and drew her into a short embrace in a rare show of public affection. "I am fine, _vhenan_."

Nimwen rested her head against his chest. "If something were wrong, would you tell me?"

Solas looked at her, his expression even. He wouldn't worry her. "I would," he lied.

"Because you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"I know." His stomach twisted a little. But he could never explain the feeling of being swallowed in a tremor, trapped between worlds in a heartbeat as he was pulled to one instead of the other.

Nimwen tilted her head back. "The stars look lovely tonight," she said. "I can even see Kios." She pointed to the small cluster of stars. "Can you see the owl?"

"I can." Solas smiled at her and slid his hand into hers. "Shall we head back, _vhenan_?"

"Let's. Don't worry about the others, I told them we had to get back home early anyways," she smiled back.

" _Ma serannas, ma vhenan_."

Solas looked away from her as they walked through the city. His eyes slid across the alleyways, a shiver passed through him that had nothing to do with the night. If they stayed here for years, would the quickening affect him? If it didn't people would notice and it would draw attention to himself and, more importantly, to his family. He had to keep himself calm. He couldn't worry her with this. It was a matter he would see in a year or so. But then what if he aged faster? There was no telling the effects of the quickening even were.

The two of them arrived back at the house and Solas opened the door for Nimwen. " _Vhenan_." He gave her a slight bow and smiled, trying to ease back his own fears and her worry in the same instant.

" _Ma lath_." She gave a curtsy with the ends of her long coat, giggling when she couldn't quite fan it out like a skirt would.

Solas felt the last of his unease vanish as it tended to in her company. He smiled and followed her into the house.

Not to his shock Lori was still awake despite it being well past her bedtime. He wanted to groan. Would this child be like Dirthamen in the sense he had never slept?

"What are you still doing up, _da'len_?" Nimwen asked.

"Orana and me play hide seek," Lori grinned.

"Where is she, by the way?" Nimwen asked.

"There you are!" the young elf jogged down the stairs. "Y-you had me worried for a while-" Orana squeaked when she saw Solas and Nimwen. "O-oh, f-forgive me, I-I know it's late but, the young mistress couldn't sleep, s-so we…"

"It's fine, Orana," Nimwen assured her. "Quite frankly it would have been a miracle if you got her to go to sleep when she should." Nimwen shot a glance at the toddler who bowed her head with a sheepish smile.

Solas crossed into the room. "Perhaps you should sleep, _da'vhenan_. Dreams are a wonderful thing." He hoped she would one day find a little joy in her dreams, that one child, either Lori or the next one, would find some small shred of joy in the Fade. He blinked. He had forgotten again… Dirthamen. But, Dirthamen wasn't an actual mage.

"I no tired," Lori pouted.

"You're still going to bed, little missy," Nimwen told her. She turned to Orana."Thank you again for watching her," she said. "Will you be all right getting home?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Maste- I mean, Serah Hawke's estate is not too far."

Solas had to fight the urge to scowl when she nearly called Hawke "Master."

"Very well, have a good night."

"Good evening to you two as well."

"Bye, Orana!" Lori ran to the servant and hugged her knees.

The blonde gave a small smile and patted the girl's head. "H-have a good night, young mistress." Orana bowed to the couple and left.

"Now, you." Nimwen picked up Lori. "You're going to bed, no excuses."

Lori pouted, and looked to Solas. "Daddy, you tell story?"

"All right," Solas conceded. He followed Nimwen upstairs while he thought on a story to tell his daughter. He knew most of the good ones he had told her already. He could retail one or tell her one of actual history.

He had settled on a story by the time they reached Lori's room. It didn't take long for the tale to lull the girl to sleep.

Nimwen tucked the blankets closer around her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Let's go," she whispered to Solas.

He nodded and left the room with Nimwen. He closed the door with a quiet tap. "It's amazing how stories put her to sleep," he mused. "They would have kept you up with questions."

"I blame you and your well of infinite answers," she smirked, striding towards their bedroom.

"What use is age without knowing a lot?" Solas tried to joke. His tone came out flat, causing the effect of the joke to crumble as dust.

Nimwen still chuckled. "There are a lot of people out there with many years under their belts, but no brains between their ears. I'm thankful you're not one of them."

"Like Elgar'nan?" Solas asked without thinking. He winced. That might not have been a good thing to say.

Nimwen paused. She turned around, with a look of surprise. "Was he really like that?"

Solas rubbed his head. "Ah, depends. He had a mean temper, was controlling; always believed he was right no matter how wrong he was." Solas hesitated. Then sighed. "Though, I might not be the best person to ask. He was my brother."

" _Ir abelas_ , I shouldn't have asked."

"I am the one who brought it up." Solas moved into their room.

"That is true," Nimwen said as she shed her clothes. She placed them with the other dirty laundry and reached into the wardrobe for her night gown. The orange glow of the candlelight gleamed off her prosthetic arm, making the silverite gleam.

Once she was in her nightgown, Solas drew her into an embrace and kissed her. She was everything to him. His anchor in this new world. " _Ir abelas, ma vhenan_." As long as she and their children were in his life, he would endure.

" _Tel'dar abelas,_ " she murmured against his neck, her nimble fingers toying with a string on his sleeve.

One of his hands slid down to her stomach. Another child. Warmth filled him and he held her in a tender embrace before kissing her neck. She was his love, his heart; his _mate_.

A mate? He had never before thought he would have a woman like Nimwen in his life, let alone a mate. His other hand caressed her arm, fingers light and loving on her smooth, cool skin.

" _Var da'len_ ," Nimwen smiled, placing her hand over his. "We only just found out, and yet, I am already impatient." She chuckled. "What I would give to be able to see him already. To hold him already, hug him, smother him in kisses, and a whole host of things I'm sure would make him groan in embarrassment when he's older."

"Assuming it's a boy already, _vhenan_?" Solas asked with a small smile.

"Well, it just seems rather rude to call our baby an 'it,'" she explained.

Solas shook head and gave a soft chuckle. The baby was an "it" right then, but he didn't wish to state such. "Didn't we just warn Lori the other day not to get her hopes up for a sister?" he teased and pulled Nimwen a little closer to him.

"I'm not getting any hopes up," she pouted. "Perhaps, it's _you_ who's having hopes, hmm?"

At this, Solas really chuckled and kissed her again. "All I am hoping is that it's not twins," he joked.

"What's wrong with twins?" Nimwen asked, still smiling. "My father was actually a twin, did I ever tell you that?"

Solas closed his eyes. "So it runs on both sides of the the family." That just made it more likely they would eventually end up with twins.

"It might not be twins. I doubt it," Nimwen said. "It's supposed to skip a generation, right?"

At this Solas cocked an eyebrow. "Then Dirthamen and Falon'Din didn't get that message."

"You and Elgar'nan were twins?"

Solas sighed and stepped back from her. "I suppose Dirthamen never said anything beyond the fact we are brothers. Yes, we _are_ twins, considering he's still alive we can't yet say 'were.'"

"Ah, yes, I suppose Mahvir never told me that." The brightness in her eyes dimmed somewhat at the mention of Dirthamen.

Solas turned away. He shouldn't have brought up his nephew-son. Solas moved around the bed as he took off the wolf pendent. It was still hard to think of Dirthamen as anything but one of the _evanuris_. A part of him wondered if Dirthamen was sending Fear to spy on them. He put down the necklace on the nightstand.

"I wrote a letter to my brother today," Nimwen said as she slipped beneath the blankets.

Solas looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

"It's occurred to me neither you or Lori have met him, or anyone from my clan. It's, well, it's just not right. I have a family that I'm keeping from my family, and I don't want it to be like that. I was thinking, perhaps now we're in the Free Marches it wouldn't be as difficult to pay a visit. It'd be nice to tell them we're expecting a child in person rather than in a letter. Goodness knows, it was hard enough the first time to explain to my brother in writing I was having a child out of bonding ties."

Solas pulled off his shirt. He folded it before joining her in bed. He wasn't certain if he should explain he didn't understand the concept of marriage or just remain silent. He decided on the staying silent. Well, silent on the bonding ties part, at least.

"Did your letter say we were coming?" he asked.

"Not in those words, per say. I did say it would be nice to see everyone again and that it had been far too long."

"It will take time to get there, but we can go." At this point, he would do just about anything to leave the city. Even visit Nimwen's clan.

"Really?" Nimwen smiled. " _Ma serannas_ , _vhenan._ " She kissed his cheek.

"Really." He turned and kissed her as well.

The last few clans Solas had met hadn't been too impressed with him. By this he meant they had chased him off, treating him no better than they did the humans. He knew only what Nimwen had told him of Clan Lavellan, and even that little told him they were better than the other clans he had encountered. Still, it wasn't something he was looking forward.

"Try to get some sleep, _vhenan_."

"All right." She settled against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. "There's something else I should mention," she murmured.

Solas had been falling asleep beside her. "Hmm?" Solas opened his eyes a slit.

"Remember when I was joking about having to explain to Sinderon I had a baby out of bonding ties? Well, the Keeper has been asking me when I planned to… correct that."

Solas blinked, his eyes now fully open. This time he didn't reply.

"You see, a bonding ceremony wouldn't make Lori considered born in bonding ties, but it would help, and if it was done before the baby's born he'd be fine." Nimwen paused. "What I'm saying is, if we go, somebody is bound to ask when we're getting married, certainly Deshanna will, and, er, well, I was just wondering, are we?"

For a moment, Solas didn't speak. This was important to her; he could tell that much from her voice alone. He out a low breath. "It's important to you, I will do whatever it takes to make you happy, _vhenan_." Even if he still didn't get this marriage thing.

"It is important to me," Nimwen admitted. "But I don't want you to agree to it if you don't want to. Marriage is important to the Dalish, and even though I'd love to call you my husband, I wouldn't want to if you are unsure about making me your wife."

At this point and from what Solas had read and gathered during the years he'd been awake, husband and wife were just the "new" terms for mate. " _Vhenan_ , I will go through with it," he assured her. Though, he was going to have to figure out the marriage thing and fast.

Nimwen let out a sigh. "I'm so glad." She smiled. "So, does this count as the proposal? A bit different from what I imagined growing up. We're missing the one knee and the bear pelt."

The more she spoke, the more confused Solas got. He remembered an old tradition where a young couple would have the male in the partnership prove themselves worthy of being a father by killing a predator. But that had been back just under eighty centuries ago when they'd just been freed from the clutches of the _Banal'ras Sa_. Now, what was the point of such a ritual? Back then, it had resulted in many young men dying. Granted, it had made for a stronger next generation, but they weren't in such a situation it was needed.

Thoughts for the morning, perhaps.

"Good night, _ma lath_ ," Nimwen whispered as she slipped into sleep.

"Good night, _vhenan_."

* * *

 _Banal'ras Sa_ \- Shadow Ones (Dark Ones) (Solas's term for the Forgotten Ones)

* * *

 **Flamewing:** Thank you to everyone who favorited and followed the story.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't normally do shout outs, but thank you to the guest reviewer for taking the time to review. We put a lot of work into the story and it is always nice to see when someone takes the time to share their thoughts on the story with us.** _ **Ma serannas**_ **!**

* * *

"Come on, you two, pick up the pace!"

"Stop rushing us!"

Milliel scoffed. "I'm rushing only because you're as slow as grass."

It had taken the hunters over an hour to find the halla that had strayed away from camp. They were leading the creature back to where the rest of the clan was, and Milliel wanted to get there quickly so she could relax and do anything _but_ scour the hills for renegade beasts.

Faen scowled, his purple _vallaslin_ wrinkling on his forehead. "I don't see why you're the one calling the shots. Sinderon is the senior hunter here."

Milliel sighed, running a hand through her curly hair. "Fine. What should we do, Sinderon?"

Milliel and Faen turned to the older elf. Sinderon's face was stoic, then again that was always the case. He towered over the two of them, and the halla he was leading. He shrugged his shoulders.

"See, he doesn't care. So, I say we speed this up!" Milliel laughed. "Oh, come now, _lethallin_ , wipe that frown off your face. Andruil probably doesn't appreciate you ruining her _vallaslin_ with those forehead wrinkles."

"Don't poke me!" Faen batted away her hand when she jabbed his forehead with her finger.

"So sensitive today," she teased.

"We shouldn't delay," Sinderon finally spoke up. It was a rare occasion when the elf would respond with more than a single sound or a silent gesture, and it was always jarring to hear his deep voice.

"Agreed, let's get her home," Milliel said, patting the halla's side.

The three hunters guided the halla through the woods, and at a pace Milliel approved of. She would have much rather have gone with the hunting group which set out that morning, but even she knew how important it was for the halla be found. Especially with the possibility of _shems_ seeing the creature and killing it.

As they continued on, Milliel occasionally stole glances at Sinderon. He was a bit of an anomaly, namely because he was tall. _Quite_ tall. He towered over everyone in the clan, and Milliel remembered hearing he was taller than some _shems_. Long black hair, a strong face, strong arms…

Milliel sighed. He really was handsome. _'No, bad Milly!'_ her inner voice scolded her. Long ago she made Sinderon off limits. After all, he was her best friend's brother. Milliel may have had no qualms with looking around, but she did have some morals. It didn't mean she couldn't look though. _'His_ vallaslin _really does match his eyes- no, focus Milly. Halla, there's a halla.'_

"You gave us quite the challenge, didn't you?" she asked as she petted the halla, keeping her eyes on the beast instead of the one leading her- _'I am horrible.'_

They didn't need any rope or reins to handle the halla. Once they found her and coax her to them, she followed them willingly. Milliel wondered how _shems_ could handle their horses, since they didn't have the same bond the Dalish had with their halla. It had to be impossible.

Milliel yelped when the halla jerked her head to the side, almost hitting the huntress with her antlers. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She's antsy all of a sudden," said Faen.

The halla turned her head back and forth, making small grunting noises.

"What has gotten into you?" Milliel asked as she tried soothing the beast.

"D-do you think she senses something?" Faen stammered. "L-like bandits?"

Sinderon reached behind him and pulled his long bow from his back. The thing was almost as tall as Milliel, and she pitied anyone who was on the receiving end of one of his arrows. However, even Sinderon and his bow couldn't squelch the uneasiness the huntress felt at the halla's behavior.

Suddenly, the halla let out a loud cry. The redhead was so startled Milliel was too slow to stop the halla as she suddenly took off.

"Wait!" Milliel called out. She ran after the animal. She could hear Sinderon and Faen following her as the hunters chased the halla. " _Venavis_!"

The halla ignored her and the frantic calls from Faen. She ran straight ahead, as if following a path the elves could not see.

"What do we do?" Faen yelled.

"I don't know! She's too fast!" Milliel could feel her pants grow heavier. She didn't even know halla could be this fast. It wasn't like she was a fleeing deer Milliel could just shoot down, and they had neither rope nor reins to wrangle her with. Maybe _shems_ had some good ideas after all?

"What's the," - Milliel looked up when a shadow fell over her - "plan?"

As she ran, she watched as Sinderon sprinted ahead of them after somehow climbing up the hill next to them.

"What are you doing?" she squawked.

He turned his head. Somehow his face remained expressionless even with his legs moving a mile a minute. He pointed towards the halla.

"I know _that_ ," Milliel snapped. "But, what in the Creators are you doing up there?!"

What happened next answered her question.

Sinderon managed to come neck and neck with the racing halla. Then, he jumped. He crashed to the ground with a loud _thud_ right in front of the halla. The creature bleated and reared. The momentary pause gave Milliel and Faen the time they needed to grab the halla.

"You have her?" Milliel asked.

"Yeah," Faen responded, hugging the halla around her neck.

"You all right, Sinderon?"

The older elf let out a groan as he peeled himself off the forest floor. He swayed as he stood up, blood leaking from his nose and dirt smeared across his face.

"Mythal's mercy, _lethallin_ ," Milliel said.

Sinderon prodded his nose. "Not broken."

"I'm surprised, considering how hard you fell." Milliel crossed her arms. "Why would you do that?"

"Had to stop her."

"Sinderon, if you could run that fast, why didn't you just run up and grab her?"

The dark haired elf blinked. "Oh."

The redhead groaned. "How have you survived without your sister?"

"You guys, the halla," Faen urged.

The creature was squirming against the hunter's hold.

"What is wrong?" Milliel asked her. "Is there something you're after?"

Like magic, the halla seemed to stop. She stared into Milliel's eyes.

"You want us to follow you?" Milliel asked again.

The halla snorted.

"Let her go, Faen."

"What do you think she's after?" Faen asked, releasing his hold on the creature.

"I don't know, but we should find out."

The three hunters jogged behind the halla, who now went at a merciful trot.

"Come on, girl, show us the way," Milliel said.

The halla stopped suddenly.

Faen raised a brow. "Is this it? There's nothing here."

"Hold on," Sinderon spoke up. He pointed to the halla.

The halla moved over to the underbrush surrounding a massive tree. She lowered her elegant head. It almost appeared as if she were grazing. A gloved hand moved from the bushes and wrapped around the halla's neck. She didn't seem the least panicked as she pulled back, her pace slow and easy.

A man was pulled to his feet from the bushes. His robes, if one could call them that, hung in many tattered layers from a thin frame. Black hair fell around his face in matted tangles.

" _Ghilan, ma uth serannas_ ," he whispered to the halla as he staggered on his feet.

The halla moved so she was supporting him. She made a gentle sound and nudged the strange elf with her snout.

" _Ghilani emma arla_?" The question cracked, the man's voice wavering despite the elegance with which he spoke elvish.

The halla bowed her head as if answering his question. She moved so she was helping the man turn.

" _Vallem, arla'shirel, Ghilan_." The two of them finished turning and the elf looked up. His face almost gaunt and bare of any _vallaslin_. His dark, purple eyes hollow of emotion outside of pain. " _Ir abelas_ if my presence caused you problems," his voice, despite the pain and fatigue, was still elegant and filled with wisdom far beyond his years.

"Who are you?" Milliel demanded. Despite it looking like a stiff wind could take him out, the huntress still found her fingers itching to grasp her bow.

"He has no _vallaslin_ ," Faen whispered in her ear. "I think he's a flat-ear."

"One who speaks perfect elvish?" Milliel whispered back uncertainly. She looked back at the stranger. "What are you doing here?"

"I am a friend of Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan." He wavered.

The halla pressed closer to his side. She made a soft sound to the man, almost like the ones she would have made to an injured calf.

" _Ir suledin_ ," he assured the halla. He lifted one shaking hand and patted her neck. He turned his dark gaze back on the three of them. "To some I am called Mahvir," he informed them. "I am no threat to you or the People. I beg of you to allow me to speak with your keeper."

"You know our keeper?" Milliel asked, eyes wide. Just who was this man? She was caught off guard when Sinderon suddenly walked ahead.

"I remember you," the tall elf said. "You would come and talk to the keeper and then disappear."

"And I remember you. Though, you were much smaller when I last saw you. You were the quiet child who loved toy birds, if I recall." Mahvir gave Sinderon a weak smile. "You've grown."

Milliel could have sworn she saw Sinderon blush.

Faen snorted. "Sinderon, _small_? Since when has _durgen'adahl_ ever been short?"

The blush on Sinderon's cheeks grew.

Milliel smacked Faen's head. "Don't be mean," she chastised him.

"Ow, sorry," Faen groaned, rubbing his head.

Mahvir's eyes narrowed as he looked at Faen. "It is far from kind to say such things to about another, _da'len_."

The hunter's eyes widened, and he bowed his head. "' _r abelas,_ " he grumbled like a scolded child.

"We can take you to the keeper," Milliel offered. "But, are you all right, _hahren_? You don't look so well."

"I will live." He looked at the halla. " _Shiral'arla_."

The halla bowed her head and started to walk at a slow pace. She kept close to Mahvir, almost carrying him. He limped heavily, placing most of his weight on his right leg.

"Maybe you shouldn't be walking," Milliel suggested. "Perhaps the halla would let you ride on her back? She seems to be fond of you."

"I can walk," he insisted with a kind, polite smile to Milliel.

"Would you like some water?" she asked, pulling out her waterskin. "You sound like you could use a drink." _'Or ten.'_

Mahvir looked at her waterskin. For a moment, it looked as if he would deny needing water then he lifted his hand. " _Ma serannas_ ," he whispered and bowed his head to her.

He took the waterskin, gloved fingers briefly passing over her hand. Through countless holes in the gloves, Milliel could just make out pale, deformed skin. He placed his thumb so his lips wouldn't touch the lip of the skin and poured some of the water into his mouth. Only a small amount though. He passed back the skin and bowed his head to her once more.

She said nothing about his skin, but it did trigger visions of even worse injuries she'd witnessed. In fact, it occurred to Milliel just how similar this situation was to another from the past. Suddenly she remembered a terrible chill that reached her bones, and a hunger so painful it was like knives- _'Stop it, bad mind,'_ she thought. _'Focus on something else. This man speaks perfect elvish.'_

"So, are you Dalish?" Milliel asked Mahvir. "You don't have _vallaslin;_ yet, your elvish is excellent."

"I belong to all the elvhen," he stated in reply. The words were weaker than before, his breathing pained.

The halla had slowed her pace. Her dark, beautiful eyes filled with concern.

" _Ne insala halani_?" Sinderon asked.

" _Banal_. It will pass," he whispered in response.

"Are you hurt?" Faen asked.

Mahvir's fingers fumbled over over a latch in the bag he carried. He pulled out a plant Milliel had seen the keeper give the elderly during the cold seasons. He breathed it in. At once, his breathing became easier, more normal.

"What's that?" Faen pointed to the plant.

"It helps shortness of breath," Mahvir explained. He whispered to the halla, stroking her neck.

The halla turned her head from him and moved off once more at the pace they had been at before.

It wasn't long until they spotted the clan's _aravels_. As they neared camp, they were approached by the hunters on guard.

"Finally found her, 'ey?" one of the hunters asked. When he caught sight of Mahvir, he frowned. "Who's this?"

"He needs to speak to the keeper," Milliel explained.

"All right, but who is he-?"

"Wait, hold on," the other hunter cut in. Her eyes widened as she stared at Mahvir. "You're the one who gave me that doll, the one that could bend and pose!"

"Wait, what are you talking about, _lethallan_?"

"Oh, come on, you remember, the Toymaker. He would come around when we were kids."

The male hunter frowned. "I don't remember that."

"Really?" Mahvir cocked an eyebrow. "You did so love the fox I carved for you. You even watched while I finished painting it."

The hunter's eyes grew. "Creators, I _do_ remember you. I-I even kept that thing, I gave it to my little sister."

"See, I told you," the huntress grinned.

"I hope she finds as much joy in the toy as you did, _da'len_." Mahvir bowed his head to the hunters. A small smile on his face and eyes soft.

"You must see Keeper Deshanna? She is near the fire, I do believe." The huntress turned to Milliel and her companions. "Take him to the keeper, and one of you take that halla to the halla keeper."

"I'll do it," Faen volunteered.

Mahvir moved away from the halla by a pace. " _Ma seranna, Ghilan_." He gave the halla a deep bow. He straightened, not placing any weight on his left leg.

As Faen led the halla to where the rest of the herd was kept, Milliel turned to Mahvir. "Do you need any help, _hahren_?"

"If it wouldn't be a bother, I would be eternally grateful for the assistance." He smiled at her.

She smiled back. Even in such a ragtag state, he had a rather nice smile. "Here, hold onto my arm if you need it," she said, extending her arm.

Mahvir took her arm. With her aid, they entered the camp and headed for the main fire where the others had said the keeper would be. Sure enough, Keeper Deshanna stood with her back to them speaking with the clan's _hahren_.

"Keeper Deshanna," Milliel said.

"Yes, _da'len_?" The keeper turned to them. Her eyes widened at the sight of Mahvir. "You're alive," she whispered.

"The People aren't rid of me yet, Keeper," Mahvir teased.

The keeper's shock melted to a scowl. "The People never wish to be rid of you."

Mahvir chuckled and released Milliel's arm. "It is good to see you again, _ma falon_." He lifted his hands.

"And you, though, as usual you come to us starved." She took his hands. Her sharp eyes moved from Mahvir to Sin. She cocked an eyebrow. "What happened to your nose, _da'len_?"

He tilted his head to the side, confused.

"The blood," the keeper explained. "You didn't run into trouble while in the woods? Was the Toymaker being chased by humans?"

"That was only the one time," Mahvir stated in even tones.

"He was being an idiot," Milliel explained.

Sinderon raised a brow.

"Tell the Keeper what you did and tell me that wasn't stupid."

"I...jumped in front of the halla."

The keeper sighed, pinching her brow. "Creators, you're just like your grandfather, always reckless with no regard for injury."

Sinderon looked away.

Mahvir smiled. "He is the same as I remember at least."

"It seems his sister inherited all the sense."

Sinderon shrugged. "Probably."

The keeper sighed and shook her head. She turned to Mahvir. "Come, you need food then I wish to hear what happened to you the past twelve years. You used to come by yearly."

Mahvir opened his mouth.

The keeper narrowed her eyes.

Mahvir shut his mouth.

"Um." Well this was awkward. Milliel was quite curious what was going on with Mahvir, as well as where he'd been, but she felt like she was intruding. "Is there anything else you need, Keeper?"

"Once the hunters return, I will call the clan together," the keeper told Milliel and Sin. "It has been a long time since the clan's been treated to one of the Toymaker's tales."

Mahvir smiled. "I would be honored, Keeper."

"Deshanna," the keeper corrected him.

"You used to like being called 'First.' I can't call you that anymore," he teased.

The keeper folded her arms across her chest. "You will eat." She took his arm in hers and they moved off.

The clan _hahren_ followed after them.

"'First?'" Milliel turned to Sinderon. "He knew the keeper when she was First? How can that be?"

Sinderon furrowed his brow.

"He'd have to be as old as Keeper Deshanna, but he looks way too young." Milliel was quite confused, but also intrigued. This Mahvir was a mystery, and she planned on solving it. _'The hunt is on, Toymaker. I'm going to get to the bottom of this.'_ The redhead began to chuckle in excitement.

Sinderon gave her a look.

"Don't judge me," she pouted.

Sinderon rolled his eyes.

*~ x ~*

Dirthamen managed to give the keeper a soft timid smile. " _Ma serannas_ for the aid, Keeper."

"You won't be thanking me for long," Deshanna stated. "I'm taking you to see Teren."

A small breath escaped Dirthamen. "Yeah, I figured as much. Still, it is kind of you to be helping me."

"If she didn't I would have been," the clan _hahren_ stated. He walked at the same slow pace Deshanna and Dirthamen were. His wizened hand touched Dirthamen's shoulder as his face crinkled with a smile. "It is good to have you back with us, _ma falon_."

Dirthamen returned his smile with one of his own. " _Ma serannas._ I missed you," his smile, though weak, widened a little, " _Hahren_ Theon."

A soft chuckle came from the old elf. "Deshanna, I do believe Mahvir and I can enjoy some fresh air. Getting him into the _aravel_ with that damaged leg will prove most difficult."

The three of them had stopped just outside one of the largest _aravels_ , or landships as the humans called them, in the clan. It was the one kept by the clan healer, Teren. Mahvir had only been inside the pervious healer's _aravel_ some years back when the keeper had been acting healer for the clan.

Deshanna hesitated. Then she sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Very well, but you had better not help him sneak off, Theon." She looked at the _hahren_ , her eyes narrowed.

Theon chuckled. "I doubt he and I would get far in the shapes we're in, Deshanna." Theon settled himself on one of the logs placed just outside the healer's _aravel_. A contented sigh escaped him. "Much better to be outside and sitting to rest my old bones as it is."

"Sit with him, Mahvir." Deshanna helped Dirthamen to the place beside Theon. "And I swear by Elgar'nan, if you two wander off I will not stop until you're both miserable." Her eyes flashed. She turned and entered the _aravel_.

"Mythal's mercy, she's only gotten more frightening over the decades." Theon looked at Dirthamen. "Remember that innocent girl who would avoid you?"

Dirthamen laughed. "As clearly as my first meeting with you, Theon."

"Ah, yes, the curious rascle that I was," he sounded almost wistful. "For the days I could actually climb trees and fit into small places just to see what was beyond my sight." He sighed. "The energy of youth." His gray eyes moved to where a group of children were playing not too far from them.

"This makes the fifth generation," Dirthamen reflected. His heart twisted. Theon had been one of the few people consent in his life for over a century now.

"Yes, the fifth I've taught since becoming clan _hahren_." Sorrow leaked into his voice. "I never expected to outlive so many. I remember teaching that silent Sinderon's great grandparents." He bowed his head.

Dirthamen placed his hand on Theon's shoulder. There was an empties and comfort in the fact they had both outlived so many. While the pain Dirthamen felt stretched over countless centuries, it was shared still with what Theon felt.

"It's always worse when you view each child as your own," Dirthamen whispered.

"It is." Theon looked back at the children and smiled, his eyes soft with warmth and love. "So full of life, I'm amazed I can still keep up with them." Theon had never had a wife or children of his own. He had devoted his life to his clan, teaching all what he knew of the history of their People. He was a guiding voice to many within the clan, the one person all came to no matter their problem because he had the answer to it.

None in the clan would now remember a time when Theon hadn't been its _hahren_. His life had stretched well into its first century, through taking good care of himself and staying active with the children of the clan. The years had started to show in him now Dirthamen looked at his oldest friend. He had slowed down greatly since the last time Dirthamen had seen him.

"I keep telling you to take it easy with the children," a stern voice sounded from the _aravel_.

Dirthamen didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Another clan elder was moving down from the _aravel_ Deshanna behind him. His hair was a short gray and eyes kind. The _vallaslin_ of Sylaise was visible on his features. Right then, his features were pulled into a small, displeased frown as he eyed Theon and Dirthamen.

"Now, how would I teach them if I took it easy?" Theon teased the newcomer.

Teren huffed at this. He then turned his eyes on Dirthamen. For a moment there was a stern look to him then he smiled, eyes and face softening. "Welcome home, Toymaker."

A small laugh escaped Dirthamen. "This is my home, now, is it?"

"You do spend a lot of time with our clan." Teren moved over to him and knelt down. He tutted at little. "Though, each time I swear you only get worse on arrival than the last. You didn't stop for food at all this time, did you?"

"I ate on way here," Dirthamen defended himself.

"Enough to only just make it here," Teren stated. "I'm well aware of how our hunters found you this time around. Thank Mythal they had a halla with them." He moved and pulled out a potion. "Drink."

Dirthamen took it. He could already taste the foul, bitter liquid before he had even tried it. It was an ancient Dalish restorative.

"Drink," Teren urged. "I don't care how nasty you find it. You find everything tastes nasty."

"True," Dirthamen agreed. He took a deep breath and downed the potion. It burned his throat as it went down.

"Now, I expect you to come back daily for another one until you have meat back on your bones." Teren took the vial and stood. "No, ifs, ands, ors, or buts. You are too old to complain about medication."

"My thanks, Teren."

Teren nodded to Dirthamen before he turned to Theon. "One for you as well, Theon." He placed a vial into Theon's hand. "And your other medications." Teren passed him a pouch. "Come back tomorrow for more."

"You're too kind, Teren," Theon said with a warm smile.

"Watch the time you spend chasing the _da'lenen_ , _Hahren_ Theon. You're not young enough to keep pace with them."

"They're well behaved for me, Teren."

"At least there is that." Teren sighed and rubbed his eyes. He joined them on the log.

Deshanna looked at him for a moment then smiled. "It has been far too long since the three of you sat like that."

"If you would join us, it would be the four of us," Theon teased the keeper.

Dirthamen felt warmth grow in his heart where the sorrow of his son's passing had been. For the first time in months, he was happy. Back in Clan Lavellan with his oldest friends, it felt right. It really did feel like a home no matter how long his stay would be.

*~ x ~*

The hunters returned an hour later with a ram to show for the day's hard work. It was rare to see such a good catch. By the time night fell the clan was gathering around the bonfire for a small feast of the ram.

Milliel sat with a group of hunters, enjoying the cooked ram with a mug of halla milk. The others were busy trading stories, with Milliel only half listening. Her attention was focused on the activity across the bonfire.

Mahvir sat near the keeper and the clan's _hahren_. A few of the older members of the clan moved to speak with him. From what could be heard, each spoke with him on some level of reverence and respect. One of the hunters around Sin's age sat beside Mahvir.

"Say, Mil, you were the one who found him, right?"

Milliel snapped to attention. "What?"

"You found the Toymaker, didn't you?"

"Not just me, Sinderon and Faen were there too," the redhead explained.

"I wonder why he's been away for so long?" a hunter apprentice pondered.

"Hey, _lethallin_ ," Milliel heard someone snicker. She looked and saw a hunter pointing at Sinderon, who was eating next to the halla keeper.

"Check out those bruises."

Milliel frowned. The dark haired elf had finally cleaned the blood from his face, but now his nose and the top of his forehead sported purple bruises.

"Looks like something finally managed to put a dent in _durgen'adahl_."

Milliel scowled. She remembered what Mahvir had said to Faen earlier. "Knock it off, you two."

The hunters turned to her. "What are you talking about?"

"You, just forget it," she sighed, gulping the rest of her halla milk.

Keeper Deshanna stood and moved so she stood before the fire so all of the clan could see her. "Today the Toymaker has returned to our clan. As is tradition, the elders will now pass on the tale of how each of us first met him. And the others have asked I go first." She cast a stern look at _Hahren_ Theon and Healer Teren.

Milliel's sour mood melted away, replaced by intrigue. She straightened up, waiting to learn more about the mysterious Mahvir. _'And so the hunt begins!'_

Keeper turned her gaze back to her clan. "I had been just named First to the keeper. It was only a few weeks into my studies when I was asked to wait outside the camp for an important visitor the keeper was expecting. Of course, being young and eager to show I was capable of being the First, I didn't ask any questions and went to wait for this visitor.

"Half the day passed before an elf appeared, covered in rags, no _vallaslin_ to be seen and looking more than half dead. I demanded to know what a 'flat-ear' was doing so close to the clan.

"The strange elf turned and looked at me. His eyebrow raised and a small smile on his face. He said 'Flat-ear? I do believe the only ones who tried to make me such were a few humans.'

"I didn't much like the way he spoke and told him I would unleash my magic on him if he didn't leave. Of course, he just chuckled and said, ' _Da'len_ , I do believe I am expected by your keeper.' I didn't quite believe him, but led him into the camp. I was quite embarrassed upon learning not only was he the one the keeper had been waiting for, but was the Toymaker, Mahvir. It took me over a week to stop hiding from him whenever he passed by." The keeper drew to to a close.

Milliel and a many others chuckled. It was hard to imagine Deshanna hiding from someone, when usually it was the other way around. It also didn't explain how in the Creators' names Mahvir could have been around back then when he looked younger than Milliel's mother. _'You are a puzzling puzzle, Toymaker.'_

"Puzzling puzzle?" Had she really just thought that?

"What did you say, Mil?"

"N-nothing," Milliel stammered.

Deshanna returned to her place among the clan.

After a pause, the clan's healer stood and moved to where Deshanna had been moments before. "Apparently, I am next to give my tale," he stated. The healer looked at the clan his eyes traveling over each in turn. "I met Mahvir the same day Deshanna did. I had been apprenticed to the clan healer before me for less time than Deshanna had been First. So, when I was tasked to craft a strengthening potion for a guest of the clan, I was at a loss on what to do.

"I remembered pieces of the potion from the first few days, but not much else. When the Toymaker first came by, I was frustrated and lost on what to do. He gave small hints on which herbs should go into the potion without telling me point blank what I needed for it.

"Later, I asked him how he knew and he just stated, he had been given that potion so much he knew each piece of it by heart at that point, but he disliked it so much he would never craft the position himself."

Milliel chuckled at this. As an elf who loathed taking medicine, she could sympathize.

A few of the older members stood one at a time, each sharing when they had first met Mahvir. None were as funny as the keepers. The last person to stand was the clan's _hahren_. Theon moved to stand where the others had.

Theon spread his arms wide as if to embrace the clan, his eyes as kind and wise as Milliel remembered them being. A small, gentle smile was on his ancient features as he looked out over the clan. What little chatter had risen up, fell away to a respectful silence in the presence of the old elf.

It was occasion like these that Milliel pondered just how the old elf was still kicking. He was the oldest person she'd ever met, older than even the eldest _hahrens_ back in her alienage, and no matter how old he grew, it seemed that he intended on joining the Toymaker in becoming a permanent fixture of clan Lavellan.

"Now," Theon started, his smile all the wider, "the tale I am about to share with you is one dear to my heart." He lifted a finger. "Just because I did this in my youth, I expect all the children to be tad wiser than I and not repeat what I did. For, not all are as lucky as I was to have a Toymaker passing through to save their little hides."

Some of the clan's children giggled at this. Milliel raised a brow, wondering just what the _hahren_ had been up to in his younger years; that of course being something of an abstract concept since Milliel found it impossible to picture him as anything _but_ old.

"I was but a _da'len_ myself, no older than ten years of age, and ready to prove myself to my clan. The _hahren_ of the clan had told us wonderful tales of old elvhen ruins close to where we were camping. She and the keeper had warned each of us to stay away from the ruins. It was no place for little ones like us to be poking around in.

"As the young often did, I listened to them but didn't think a word of it applied to me. Under the protection of the night, I slipped away from the camp and struck off in search of the ruins. I wanted to see the place our ancestors had created for myself, to witness such beauties as ancient statues honoring the creators.

"I managed to get deep into the ruins and came upon the most beautiful of statues honoring our creators. It was one to Dirthamen, showing him kneeling, faced hooded and hidden from the world. The robes our ancestors had given him were plain and the raven statues flanked him. It was a sight I had never dreamed of seeing in all ten years of my life."

Milly snorted when the image of a tiny, ten year-old sized yet still old Theon popped into her head. Her thoughts then drifted to images of the great statue to Dirthamen, the ruins within. As a child she dreamed of being an explorer, crawling through old tombs and finding lost treasure. At one point, she even went through a pirate phase. She received looks as she tried muffling her laughter when she remembered trying to show Nimwen how to walk on sticks as if they were peglegs. Not her smartest moment.

"So captivated by this image, I didn't hear the undead creeping up from the shadows." Theon's voice dropped in volume, his gaze almost shadowed by the flickering fire light. "I turned when I heard a soft snap from behind. Fear froze my feet to the ground."

The children cringed back in fear. Some clung to their parents.

Milliel leaned in, sucked into the _hahren's_ story.

"A bright light exploded between me and the oncoming horde. The scream of the dead chilled the air. As the light faded, I saw a man in tattered robes standing with a dagger through the chest of one of the dead. More had fallen around him in the time it had taken for the light to clear.

"He wrenched his dagger free and whirled towards me. Hood up, and face hidden within its shadows. He took my arm, ordering me to run. That he would be right behind me. I didn't pause and took off back towards the camp. I didn't stop until I realized there was no sound coming behind me anymore.

"From the mouth of the ruin's entrance, the man who'd saved me limped forward, holding to a staff and dagger still in hand. He took me aways from the ruins and said we would camp until sunrise when we would return to the clan.

"None were too pleased with my adventurism when I returned to the clan the next morning. The keeper told me I had been lucky the Toymaker had been on his way to visit the clan." _Hahren_ Theon turned his gaze towards the children. "Learn to never wander from the clan, no matter how adventurous you may feel, _ma da'lenen_. For not all are as lucky as I to have the Toymaker coming by," Theon drew his tale to a close.

Milly smiled. Ending on a lesson, typical for Theon. Though his message did remind her of her own rebellious period. She was that child who would always want to venture away from the clan. Had it not been for Nimwen practically begging her not to, the redhead couldn't imagine what kind of trouble she could have gotten into.

"The Toymaker hasn't been seen for the past twelve years. While it was common for this to happen, many of us had grown used to his yearly visits with the tales he would bring for the clan and the toys for the children." The _hahren_ turned to Mahvir. "We would be honored to hear one such tale this night, Toymaker."

' _And more is revealed,'_ thought Milliel. _'What story shall you share tonight, I wonder?'_ The more that was spoken about Mahvir, the more fascinating Milliel found him. The idea of a person who came and brought toys to children and stories seemed like something out of a story the _hahren_ would tell. Milliel wondered why Mahvir had chosen the Lavellan clan to be the recipients of such kindness, or if there were other clans he visited. She liked to think he only came to them, even if that was a bit selfish.

Mahvir was helped to his feet by the hunter who had been sitting beside him. She aided him over to the fire where the _hahren_ bowed his head to Mahvir. The _hahren_ returned to his place beside the keeper.

In the firelight, Mahvir's eyes looked almost black. "As many of you well know, twelve years ago was close to the time the Fifth Blight happened."

He launched into a gripping tale of an alienage and it's fight to stop the Blight. The children cringed as he described the darkspawn. It wasn't like the tale of the Hero of Ferelden, rather it focused on the elves of this one alienage, their struggles and triumphs, sorrows and brief moments of joy. He drew to a close. Silence greeted the end of his tale.

Milliel sat in awe. She had never heard anybody tell a story like that. It was as if she were there. He wasn't even speaking anymore and yet she could see the alienage right in front of her, feel the heat of the flames on her skin, hear the sound of battle and the cries of victory. So inspired by his tale, she did not hesitate to jump to her feet and to clap as hard as she could, even as her clan stared at her.

Mahvir looked at her. For a moment his face was expressionless, each part outlined in the light of the fire and the harsh shadow of night; then, he smiled and bowed his head to her. He turned to the hunter who had helped him to the fire and she aided him back to his place beside the keeper.

It was then Milliel was brought back to reality, and, as she became aware of the eyes on her, her clapping slowly faded and she quickly sat down.

"What was that?" one of the hunters whispered to her.

Milliel groaned. Her face was on fire and her hands stung from clapping so hard. _'Mythal, if you could send a dragon to eat me, that would be nice.'_

The clan was starting to break up to head for their beds. Mahvir turned and spoke with the hunter. She gave him a hug before standing and moving off towards one of the _aravels_ shared by those who weren't bonded.

Theon and Teren exchanged words with Mahvir as well before they moved to their own _aravels_ for the night.

The keeper stood and helped Mahvir to his feet. The two of them moved off together, the keeper helping the Toymaker. Neither moved towards an _aravel_. Rather they headed away from the clan to the edge of the camp.

Milliel cocked her head, curious. _'Wonder what they're up to.'_ While spying on the keeper and a beloved figure for the clan might have been frowned upon, the huntresses' curiosity got the better of her. Before she knew it, she was creeping along in the dark to eavesdrop like some delinquent.

' _It's not eavesdropping, more like, investigating,'_ Milliel thought to herself. _'Yes, investigating. That's a better word. Investigating isn't creepy at all.'_ Her inner monologue ceased when she heard hushed voices. She hid behind a tree, and listened to what was being said.

A soft magical light could be seen around the tree.

"What happened to your leg?" the keeper asked, her voice respectful, but still holding a note of sternness to it. "You were able to place weight on it the last time you were here."

"Trouble in Denerim. I broke it," Mahvir stated in response.

The keeper made a soft noise. "And decided to try and walk all the way here on a broken leg?"

"I've walked further with worse."

Taking a chance, the redhead poked her head around the tree to take a look.

The keeper and Mahvir stood such that they wouldn't be able to see Milliel. The keeper had a scowl on her face while Mahvir just smiled.

Keeper Deshanna took a deep breath. "All right, turn and sit."

Mahvir let out a low breath. "No getting out of this."

"Not on your life."

"Fine, fine." Mahvir settled himself on the ground and started to remove the upper layers of his robes. As the last layer fell away it revealed a back laced with scars, most of the right side was covered in whip marks while the left was malformed skin, vanishing up his neck and going over his shoulder. The extent of the scar was hidden by the rest of his clothes. His right shoulder bore a branded burn symbol Milliel had sometimes seen placed on the flanks of _shem_ horses.

The keeper knelt down. A soft light lit her hands. "Where do you hurt?"

"I am fine."

"Really? I am too old for that trick, Shartan."

Milliel shoved a hand over her mouth before her gasp could escape. _'Shartan? Did she just say Shartan?!'_ How could this be? Shartan died with Andraste, hadn't he? _'What is going on?'_ To make matters worse, she was fairly certain among the scars marring his skin were burn marks. _'Burns as in fire. As in being_ on _fire. As in, by the Creators he's Shartan! He's Shartan!'_ Her finger clutched her head as she tried to make sense of all this. How did Shartan survive the flames? How had he lived for so long? And most importantly, why in Mythal's name was he dressed like a vagabond making toys for a Dalish clan?

Shartan let out a low breath. "As usual, everywhere hurts and in the same instance, nowhere. I've grown used to it."

The keeper huffed a little. She started to run her hand in smooth motions down his back. "I always forget how extensive the damage is," the keeper spoke in sorrow filled tones. "You only make it worse by traveling all the time."

"I try to help where I can when I can. Which brings me to the subject, I carved toys for the children of the clan."

Deshanna let out a small laugh. "You haven't changed. Always too kind to the children. And to us."

Shartan looked at the night sky. "All elvhen are my People. A toy brings a smile where once despair lingered. Stories inspire the hope I can no longer bring. As you can tell, I tried fighting again not too long ago. Didn't go too well."

"Oh, just a little ago. By that story, you also helped fight the Darkspawn for that alienage."

Shartan coughed. "Yes, well, old habits." There was a short silence between them. "A few of the _aravels_ looked to need repair-"

"No," the keeper cut him off.

"I don't take food or kindness such as this for free, Keeper. And I plan to stay awhile. Alaula is the last of my children."

"Valendrian passed?" There was a note pain in Deshanna's voice. "He was a good man from what you told me."

"He did and was," whispered Shartan. "Perhaps I will stumble upon another child soon."

Deshanna laughed. "That's how you plan to save your People, one child at a time?" she teased.

"It works. In a slow, painful way."

"You deserve more than this life. All you've done for the People," she trailed off.

"Was taken by both the People and the chantry. I can't join the Dalish anymore than I can the city elves or the slaves. My place is among all of my People."

"You're still not helping repair the _aravels_."

A small smile came to Milliel's face. He was still a mystery to her, but now she knew that his kindness was not a lie, and went even deeper than she initially expected. She would keep Shartan's identity a secret, her clan owed him that much at least. Still, she found herself wanting to discover more of the layers he no doubt kept hidden. _'I'll get to know you yet. You won't keep those layers from me, you kind hearted onion.'_

Determination sparked in her, enough to make her forget the horrid analogy she'd just thought of. Just as she began to formulate plans, a thought struck her. _'Alaula? She's his kid?'_

Shartan sighed. "I will still help." He paused. "How has Alaula been? I know what she's written me, but when I left her here a few years after the bandits killed her blood parents," he trailed off.

"She's shy and keeps to herself. But she's a good huntress and loves her clan. She seems happy enough." The Keeper gave a soft chuckle. "She has had a crush on Sinderon for sometime now."

"Lady Nimwen's brother?" Shartan laughed. "My that would be awkward if it went anywhere."

"Pardon?" the keeper asked.

"Idle thought, Keeper."

Deshanna scowled. "Call me Deshanna or I won't heal your leg."

"Keeper."

"Now you're doing it on purpose!" She lightly hit his head.

Milliel's eyes widened. _'He knows Nimwen?'_ How in the Creators' names did _the_ Shartan know her best friend? Granted Nimwen was the Herald, or whatever the _shems_ called her, and had basically saved the world, but that was hardly an explanation. "How did my life get so strange?" Milliel whispered. She now felt she understood what Nimwen must have felt like when she all of a sudden became some sort of chosen one. Made the whole thing seem much more stressful than Milliel had imagined.

"It's bad enough being half naked here, no hitting." Shartan shot a teasing look at Deshanna, but there as a light tinge to his cheeks.

"Ah, don't like women?" the keeper shot back.

His entire face went red. "That was not what I was implying!" He started to put back on his clothes. "And you are well aware of what my relationship with Andraste was."

The keeper laughed. "And you still get edgy with those jokes. At least around you I don't have to be the keeper, even if it's a brief moment."

He shook his head. "You've done well with your clan. Speaking of clans, I met Hawen briefly."

"Really? How was he and his clan?"

"He was upset over a matter happening in the south. Lady Nimwen passed on one of the books we found in a temple."

"Temple? What did you do? Aggravate your breathing more?"

"And you change it to my health."

"Someone has to. You might look twenty-five, but with your body in the condition it is, you're more likely to fall on your face than walk."

There it was again, _looked_ twenty-five. How was it that he hadn't aged, or died for that matter? _'Does he have some sort of power?'_ Milliel wondered. Well, it wouldn't have been that much of a stretch, he was a disciple of the _shem's_ goddess, or whatever she was. However, that would have to mean that the _shem_ woman really _was_ a goddess, and that can't be right. The Creators were the true gods.

"Only with my leg the way it is, Deshanna," he finally called the keeper by her name. He finished redressing. "My thanks. You should get some sleep."

"And you should know you don't have to sleep out here."

Shartan chuckled. "Ah, but then who would tell you if it was cold during the night."

The keeper narrowed her eyes.

"I'll be fine. May your dreams be guarded, Deshanna."

Milliel saw the keeper and Shartan walking towards her and panicked. She quickly shuffled to the left of the tree, only to find herself going straight into a bush. The gods were smiling on her as she didn't make much noise, but now her clothes and hair were tangled in the bush's leaves. _'Why world, why?'_ her inner voice groaned.

A stick was poking her in the back. and every time she tried to move her tangled mane pulled at her head. She heard the keeper pass by, and she let out a sigh of relief. _'At least I went unnoticed,'_ she thought. When she moved her hand, she felt something squish beneath it. A thousand horrid thought filled her brain as she brought her hand to her face. She found a crushed blackberry smeared across her palm. _'Oh great, it's a blackberry bush. At least I won't starve to death in here.'_ How was she going to get out of this? She could eventually unhook the branches from her shirt and pants, but her hair was another story. She'd been lucky enough that no thorns from the bush had made contact with her skin, but she could feel them in her curls, and one wrong move could get her poked. _'Creators, help me out here. Please. Send me a sign, something. Anything to help me out here!'_

"I suppose this is what comes from eavesdropping," a soft voice laughed. She could hear someone kneel down by the bush. The sound was off as if the person was easing to the ground.

' _Creators you have quite the sense of humor.'_ Swallowing her pride, Milliel spoke up. "Yeah, yeah, just help me out of here. There's a stick poking my ass and my arm's asleep."

The man moved forward a little making his features clearer to her. Shartan gave a soft chuckle. She saw his silhouette move and felt gentle tugs as he started to untangle her hair from the bush. "You're far from the first one to fall into a blackberry bush after listening in," he stated, voice still light, almost joking. "There, that should do it for your hair."

The huntresses' face was on fire. She hadn't realized it was him. She couldn't believe she'd said that. " _M-ma serannas_ ," she stammered.

"You're quite welcome." He pulled himself up by using the tree and held out his hand to her. "My lady." He gave her a polite bow his head.

"'My lady?'" Milliel repeated as she took his hand. "But I'm no lady."

"You certainly sound like a lady, or I am mistaken in assuming you're female?" he teased.

"Of course I'm a female!" Now her face felt like it was going to melt off. "I just meant, well…" Flustered, she scratched her head. She felt leaves and a few thorns embedded in her hair, and she cringed at the thought of how long it would take to clean them out. "Isn't a lady what _shems_ call their nobility? I'm just a hunter."

Shartan helped her to her feet, his breathing a little strained. "Lady is also just a polite way of referring to a woman. No matter if they are nobility or a slave," he explained. "Thus, you are a lady."

"Oh." Milliel looked down at her feet. " _Ir-ir abelas_ for spying, I didn't mean to."

"If you hadn't meant to, you wouldn't have been following us, _da'len_ ," his voice was even, showing no signs of anger. "I admire you had the courage to do so. But you could have simply come to me with your questions."

"Yes?" Fantastic, she finally had the chance to complete this puzzle and she found her tongue had shrivelled up. _'You can do this, Milly. Peel the onion, get those layers! You must know everything.'_ Taking a deep breath, she started with the obvious. "So, you're Shartan?"

He pulled something from his bag. "I am." A soft light filled the space from a match. He lit the candle he held.

"Okay, well...wow." _'Keep those deep thoughts going, clearly you're winning him with your intelligence.'_ "That's amazing. You're like, by the Creators, you're Shartan," she laughed, nervous. "You're the reason I'm here with my clan and not in chains somewhere. _Ma serannas_."

Shartan looked at her. His deep, dark purple eyes sad. "I was far from alone in the fight. Circumstance placed me in the center." He looked away from her and back towards the camp. "So many died for what little freedom the People have gained."

"But you were there too," Milliel said. "I wish I could say thank you to everyone who helped the People, but they're not the one in front of me. So, I'm thanking you. Thank you-wait, I already said that."

Shartan turned his gaze back on her. His expression was even and he bowed his head to her.

"Can, can I ask something else?"

A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "You may."

"How are you still here, alive, I mean? All of that happened so long ago."

"I will answer that question if you promise me something."

"Um...sure. I-I mean, of course, yes."

"You have a knack for not being noticed by Deshanna. Will you aid me later in getting to the damaged aravels without being seen by her?" He gave her an almost sly smile. If one could really call it sly. His smile was a half smile and the light of the candle glittered in his eyes, but the way it came off as was just as gentle as his normal smile.

"I guess I can do that, why would you want to though?"

"I do not like taking food for free. It's my wish to repair them for the clan."

"I suppose that makes sense." Though, in the back of her mind, Milliel wondered why he felt he owed them. In fact, the Dalish should have been showering him in boons just for who he was. But the more Milliel thought about it, he didn't seem like someone who would be the savior of the elvhen people; if she hadn't learned his real name she would never have known! Yet, there was something about how genuinely nice he was, and how he was always giving people things or offering to help. _'Maybe more heroes_ should _be like him,'_ she thought. "All right, I'll take you to the _aravels,_ and you give me another layer."

Shartan cocked an eyebrow then gave a soft chuckle. " _Ma serannas_ , Lady Milliel." He bowed to her, as a gentleman would to his lady. "To answer your question," - he straightened - "I've not aged or died because of experiments done on me in my youth. Those experiments locked me in a moment in time. And, thus, I will remain twenty-five for all eternity."

"For eternity?" Milliel's eyes widened. "What kind of experiments could do that? Was it blood magic?"

"Ah, and those are the questions. If I knew all of which went into them, I could reverse them and finally find an end." He turned his gaze from her. "I was too young at the time to remember the early stages of the experiments. I was only eight at the time they started." He shook his head and looked back at her, smiling once more. "In a few days, I will speak to you again about the _aravels_ , deal?" He held out his hand to her.

Milliel found herself grinning, taking his hand in hers. "Deal."

* * *

 _Ghilan, ma uth serannas_ \- Guide, my eternal thanks  
 _Ghilani emma arla?_ \- Come to guide me home?  
 _Vallem, arla'shirel, Ghilan_ \- I bid you, journey home, Guide.  
 _durgen'adahl_ – Stone tree  
 _Ne insala halani? -_ You are in need of help?

* * *

 **Flamewing:** I was too excited to wait on posting this chapter…

So, yeah, a chapter filled with Herenya's and my OCs and Deshanna. I love Teren and Theon so very much and really, really want to hear your guys' opinions on them. I am certain Herenya would like to hear what you guys think of Milliel, Sinderon, and so forth.

Also, wow, this was a very long chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

"Lori, put your boots on."

"No."

"Then let _me_ put your boots on."

"No."

"You are not getting into that wagon until you have your boots on."

"No!"

"I'm not asking again, young lady."

"No boots!"

"Lorien Hylea Lavellan, you are putting these on this instant!"

"Noooooo!"

Nimwen groaned. They hadn't even set off yet and she already had a headache. "Solas, you deal with this."

Solas looked up from the bags he had been finishing packing. " _Vhenan_ , you realize I am also not wearing shoes, correct?"

"She needs to keep her feet warm," Nimwen insisted. "I'm not letting her risk frostbite just because you have indestructible feet."

Solas let out a long breath. " _Da'vhenan_ , please listen to your _mamae_."

The toddler pouted. "No."

Solas stood and picked up the girl's boots. "You are a smart girl, right, _da'vhenan_?"

"I smart," Lori said.

"Then, a smart girl like you will know wearing uncomfortable boots feels better than losing her little toes." He knelt down, voice soft and tone reassuring as he placed the boots right before Lori. "How about? Are you smart?"

"I smart!" Lori repeated. "But you and _mamae_ no wear boots!"

Nimwen winced. It was hard to argue that. Solas of course like most elves prefered no shoes, and Nimwen herself never had to worry about the cold affecting her. Quite honestly it was possible Lori would be fine without boots, but Nimwen's own overprotective instincts made her worry about the littlest of things.

A small chuckle escaped Solas. "This is true, _da'vhenan_ , but I still cover my feet in the cold." He placed his hand on her head. "I know when I need to wear shoes. If it is warm enough for your feet not to be bitten by the cold, then I promise you can remove your boots."

"But they make my toes feel funny," Lori pouted.

"Please just do this, _da'len_ , don't you want to get in the wagon and meet your uncle?" Nimwen asked.

Lori looked back and forth between her parents. She sighed. "Fine," she grumbled.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Nimwen said.

Solas smiled. "There's my bright girl." He drew Lori into a quick embrace and kissed the girl's cheek. Then he set her back down and stood. He returned to the bags.

"So, do you want me to do it or do you want to put them on?" Nimwen asked.

Lori stuck her leg out.

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Of course," she chuckled as she took one of the small boots.

She managed to put the girl's boots on without too much of a fuss. When she started lacing however, Lori was adamant that they be laced as loosely as possible, saying that they hurt her feet. Nimwen of course suspected the girl merely wanted to be able to take them off at a moment's notice.

"You're going to keep these on until I say so, understand?"

"Okay, _mamae_ ," Lori nodded.

' _I believe that if they're still on in an hour.'_ Nimwen stood up, stretching her back. "Creators," she groaned as she heard her back pop. She'd started to get back pains the past few days. She dreaded what it would be like months from now when her stomach grew. "Can you please be a small baby?" Nimwen asked, patting her stomach.

Solas looked towards her from where he had been checking the bag with the food they were taking with them for the few day trip to the free city close to the last known camping site of Clan Lavellan. "When did your back start hurting, _vhenan_?" He stood and crossed over to her. His fingers warm on her shoulders.

"Maybe a day or two ago," she replied, leaning into his touch. "I got aches with Lori around this time too. They aren't too bad. Not as bad as when I've grown big as a druffalo."

Solas continued to knead her back for a few moments longer. Then, he drew Nimwen into an embrace. "We should get going." He kissed her before moving back to the bags. "I will get the bags if you get Lori, _vhenan_."

"All right," she sighed, the ache in her back fading. She bent down and scooped up Lori. "Ready to go?"

"Where Nummy?" Lori asked.

"He's already in the wagon, remember?" Nimwen explained as she opened the door. The wagon itself was nice while not too flashy, courtesy of Varric. It was perfect for comfortable travel while not drawing any attention to themselves. She placed Lori on the seat next to Nummy and settled into her own seat.

"We go on 'venture, Nummy," Lori giggled as she hugged the nug. The creature gave a squeak and nibbled at the girl's braid.

Solas finished placing the last of the bags in the wagon. "Be good for your _mamae_ back here, _da'vhenan_." He gave Lori's little hand a light squeeze before moving to the front of the wagon.

Soon the wagon lurched forward and they were off.

"Weeee, we movin'" Lori smiled, staring out the window.

Nimwen chuckled. Lori had been in plenty of carriages and wagons before, and every time it was like she'd never experienced anything like it.

"Where Uncle Sin, _mamae_?" Lori asked.

"The clan is on their way to Ostwick," Nimwen explained. "It should take us about a week to meet up with them."

"Will they like me?" Lori asked.

"Of course they will," Nimwen responded. "They are your family, and I've told them nothing but what a wonderful little girl you are. Uncle Sin has just been dying to meet you."

"They like daddy too?"

"Um, well, they haven't met daddy yet either," Nimwen said. "But you don't have to worry."

"I no worry, daddy best daddy. They _have_ to love him!" Lori stated.

Nimwen chuckled. "Indeed, he is the best."

Most of the first day passed, with nothing too exciting happening other than rain clouds moving in from the sea. The second day was when the rain hit them. Solas kept the wagon going through the storm even, only stopping at night to join them in the back of the covered wagon, wet. The rain lasted all of the trip, not even stopping on the seventh day as they drew near to the clan.

The wagon drew to a stop. The soft patter of rain drummed on the cover. A few moments later Solas appeared. "We're getting close to the camp," he informed them. "There is a path just wide enough for the wagon." He pulled himself into the wagon, staying close to the edge so as not to trail water further in. His eyes were intent as he looked at Nimwen.

"Daddy, daddy," Lori squealed as she clambered into her father's lap. "Look I make for Uncle Sin," she grinned, shoving her drawing into his hands. " _Mamae_ say what he look like, and she say it look _just_ like him!"

Solas smiled and lift her off his lap and back into the drier part of the wagon. "We don't want your masterpiece to wet, _da'vhenan_." He tapped her nose. "And I fear I am soaked." He turned to Nimwen. " _Vhenan_ , I will get us closer to the camp, but they will stop us." He jumped down, water dripping from the rim of his hood. "Lori, please return to your seat. It's going to be very bumpy." He vanished around the wagon.

"He like it?" Lori asked Nimwen.

"Uncle Sin will love it," she smiled, placing the toddler back in her seat.

The wagon started forward once more. Solas hadn't been kidding when he had said it would be bumpy. Each beat of the horse's hooves made them bounce up a little from theirs seats. Soon the wagon was pulled to a stop. Voices could just be heard outside of the wagon. Solas reappeared with a few familiar figures following him.

"Creators, is that who I think it is?"

" _Aneth ara,_ Faen," Nimwen smiled.

The younger elf grinned. "Never thought I'd see you again, Nimwen."

"Well, here I am."

"Yes," Faen's eyes shifted to Lori. "With guests."

"Hiya," Lori waved.

The hunter gave a small wave back, then turned to Nimwen. "I take it you'll want to see the keeper first?"

"She'd kill me if I didn't," Nimwen replied.

"All right, come on then."

Solas lifted Lori out of the wagon and held her even as he held out his other hand for Nimwen. " _Vhenan_." He gave her a very soft smile from under his hood.

"Ready to meet the family?" Nimwen asked, taking his hand.

Solas grunted as he helped her from the wagon. He glanced towards where Nummy was still caged near the back before he turned his gaze on the hunter.

"Oh, yes, Faen, see the nug in the back? He is _not_ food, understood?"

"Got it," the hunter responded.

"We'll get him once we've settled in," Nimwen said to Solas.

He nodded and followed after Faen towards the camp. He still held Lori.

As they walked through the camp, Nimwen saw many eyes turn towards her family. She heard many whispers and murmurs, and a few people came up to greet her or waved at her. She would answer or wave back, feeling joy at seeing the familiar faces again, but also nervousness. How would they feel about Lori and Solas, or her unborn child? She doubted any would say harsh words or harm any of them, she knew her clan to well. But whispers behind closed doors could hurt just as much as the ones told straight to one's face. _'Relax, everything will be fine.'_ She found herself squeezing Solas's hand, holding onto it for support.

Solas looked at her and gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Then his attention turned back to the clan. It was clear he was uneasy as well despite the fact no signs of the unease could be seen on his features.

As they approached the main campfire, people turned to the approaching group.

Nimwen's eyes met familiar hazel ones. "Keeper," she smiled.

The older woman stood from her seat. "You are a good sight, _da'len_ ," Deshanna smiled.

The two met and exchanged an embrace. Nimwen could smell the scent of herbs and ink that had always clung to Deshanna's clothes, and suddenly she was eight years old again studying magic in the keeper's _aravel_. She grinned, hugging the old woman tight. "It's so good to see you again, Keeper."

"You as well, my dear," the Keeper replied.

As the two parted, Deshanna caught sight of Solas. "Is this who I think it is?"

' _Don't panic, you are in control,'_ "Yes, it is," Nimwen said, pushing down her nerves. "Keeper Deshanna, this is Solas. Solas, this is Keeper Deshanna."

Solas shifted a squirming Lori on his hip and bowed his head to Deshanna. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Keeper."

" _Andaran atish'an_ ," Deshanna replied.

Nimwen saw the Keeper look Solas up and down, and could feel her heart race.

"You are, not quite what I expected."

' _Oh no.'_

"But, with Nimwen, conventional was never really in her taste."

Solas didn't reply to this, just held the keeper's gaze.

"Hi." Lori waved.

"Now, who is this?" Deshanna smiled at the toddler.

"This is our daughter, Lorien," Nimwen said.

"I can tell, she looks just like you."

Solas glanced at Nimwen; then, he set Lori on the ground. "She does look like Nimwen," he agreed.

"So, how have you been, Keeper?" Nimwen asked.

"The Creators have brought us good fortune. We have not had any major conflicts since that incident a few years back, and we owe your Inquisition that much."

"That is good," Nimwen responded.

"Alaula," the keeper called to a hunter.

The hunter in question had been crossing the camp an empty bowl in hand. The hunter walked over to them, the hunter's amber eyes moving from the keeper to Solas. The hunter looked Solas up and down, but there was no hint of suspension. The hunter had strong features, the appearance of teen boy.

"Yes, keeper?" Alaula asked, her voice clearly female despite her appearance.

"It appears he actually ate this time." The keeper looked at the bowl in Alaula's hand.

Alaula beamed, her face lighting up with the smile. "He did, Keeper." Her smile melted away. "He still wishes to work to repay us for the food."

"You told him not to, I assume?"

"I tried, but, you know Papa, he doesn't like to eat for free."

The keeper let out a long low breath as she pinched her nose. " _Ma serannas_ for trying, _da'len_. I will speak with him later. Creators only know he's done enough to deserve free food and a warm place to sleep." Deshanna turned back to Nimwen. "Nimwen, I don't believe you've spoken with Alaula before."

Alaula turned her sharp eyes on Nimwen. " _Aneth ara_ , First Nimwen." Her voice had softened to no more than a whisper. "Are you returning to the clan?" There was a note of hope in her voice. The red-brown _vallaslin_ of Dirthamen she wore crinkled with a worried expression.

"I have come to visit," Nimwen replied. She had never known Alaula very well. She was her brother's age, and Nimwen had had a hard enough time getting along with the children her own age, let alone older ones. "It is nice to see you again, Alaula."

Alaula gave the keeper a worried look before she nodded to Nimwen. "And you, Nimwen." To the keeper she said, "I'll see if I can get papa to eat a second bowl, if that is all right by you keeper?"

"By all means. If he doesn't eat it, force feed it to the man." The keeper's voice was almost stern.

Alaula smiled a little. "I don't think papa will hold still for me to try, but I will do as you ask, Keeper." She bowed her head to the keeper then looked at Nimwen. "Nimwen." She moved off to where the pot with the midday meal still rested over the fire.

"Who is she talking about, Keeper? I thought Alaula didn't have parents," Nimwen asked.

"She's referring to the man who saved her life as a child and brought her to the clan," Deshanna explained. "A topic for later." she brushed the matter aside and looked at Lori with a soft smile on her face.

"Do you know where Sinderon is?" Nimwen asked.

"Uncle Sin, Uncle Sin!" Lori chanted.

"Your brother should be back from a scouting trip soon," Deshanna explained. "I pray he's a bit more responsible on this one."

"What do you mean?" asked Nimwen.

"A while back he hurt himself, nothing serious mind you, just some bruises and a bloody nose, fell right on his face."

"He's hopeless," Nimwen laughed.

Solas glanced around the camp. He still held Lori's hand so the girl wouldn't run off. There was something different about the way he was now from when they had been in Kirkwall. While he was uneasy right then, there was no tension in his posture. His gaze, while scanning the camp, were wary, yes, but not as much as when he had been looking from one human to the next in Kirkwall. There was a slight frown on his features.

Nimwen brushed her hand against his, and gave him a questioning look.

"Later, _vhenan_ ," he whispered so that only she could hear. He turned his gaze back on the keeper.

"So, Keeper, I have some news."

Deshanna raised a brow. "Oh? I hope it's good news,"

"It is, very good news." Nimwen took Solas's hand. "Solas and I...we wish to be bonded."

The Keeper's eyes widened. "Truly?"

"Truly." Solas bowed his head to the keeper.

"Creators, this is wonderful news, and something that has been long since due," Deshanna said, glancing at Lori.

Nimwen blushed.

"I'll have to speak to _Hahren_ Theonto arrange the ceremony, and there shall be many preparations. Oh, a bonding ceremony, we have not had one in such a long time." Deshanna started off towards where the clan's _hahren_ was.

When she was out of earshot, Solas turned to Nimwen. " _Vhenan_ ," he started in a low voice, "there are only three mages in the entire camp."

"What do you mean? What about Deshanna's First?" Nimwen tried to ignore the hint of bitterness she felt at that. She held no resentment to the new First to the Keeper, nor to Deshanna for replacing her. It was just for so long she prided herself as the successor to the Keeper, only to have that role taken by another. Still, that was behind her. She was quite content with her life as it was.

"Perhaps said First isn't within the camp right now. But the huntress did call you 'First' when she spoke with you, _vhenan_. There maybe more going on here than meets the eye."

"Oh, you're overreacting, _ma lath_ ," Nimwen assured Solas. "Alaula probably just called me 'First' by mistake. After all, that was my title for years and that's what she called me when I left."

" _Mamae,_ what're those?" Lori asked.

When Nimwen saw what she was pointing at, she smiled. "Those are _aravels_ , _da'len_. That's where the Dalish sleep and where we keep our belongings."

"We get one?"

That made Nimwen pause. She wasn't quite sure where they would be sleeping. Before she left the clan she had still shared an _aravel_ with her brother, as neither of them were bonded, and she doubted all of them could fit into Sinderon's _aravel_.

"We'll see," Nimwen told the girl.

"There was a tent among the items we brought, _vhenan_ ," Solas said as he pointed back to where they had left the wagon. "Perhaps I can speak with the keeper about it."

The soft sound of laughter followed and Solas turned his gaze. There was a group of children close to Lori's age playing nearby. Solas frowned and looked around the camp.

"There are fewer elvhen here than other clans I've seen," he stated.

"We've always been a small clan," Nimwen explained. "Though I don't recall us having as many children." She smiled. It was nice to see her people still lived their lives, having families of their own.

"Hmm." Solas knelt down. " _Da'vhenan_ , why don't you go play with the other children while I speak with the keeper again." He placed his hand on Lori's head.

"I play?"

Nimwen was surprised at the almost uncertain look on Lori's face. It was then it occurred to Nimwen what little experience Lori had with children her own age. Speaking on a first-name basis with the Divine? Easy. But other children was apparently a nervous experience.

"Don't worry, _da'len_ , they won't bite," she assured the girl. "I think they're playing ball, and they never have enough players. So, you'd be a good addition," she said with a wink.

"Really? Okay. Bye, _mamae_ ; bye, daddy!" Lori run towards the other kids as fast as her little legs could go.

Solas smiled as he straightened. He turned to Nimwen. "I can speak with the keeper alone, _vhenan_. You need some rest." Without waiting for her reply he moved off to where the keeper had gone.

Nimwen sighed. Solas had become rather protective as of late. She wasn't so helpless that she couldn't speak to the keeper with him. She took the opportunity to glance around the camp. It felt so strange to be back. Everything was just how it was when she left. It almost felt like the past three years had been a dream. But, it wasn't a dream, and Nimwen was quite okay with that. Still, some days she wondered what her life would have been if somebody else had been sent to spy on the Conclave. Would she still be doing what she had done before? Would Thedas still even be intact? She may never know, and she'd had enough experiences with time travel for one lifetime.

Her eyes caught sight of Alaula, looking around with concern on her face. "Is everything alright, _lethallan_?" Nimwen asked as she approached the huntress.

"No, everything isn't okay," Alaula growled under her breath. Her eyes widened and she clapped her free hand over her mouth. " _Ir abelas_ ," she muttered a small flush to her cheeks. She tucked a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear. "If you must know I lost track of my papa. The keeper, as you know, wanted me to give him another bowl of food." She looked at the ground.

"Would you like some company while you look? Perhaps I could help," Nimwen offered.

Alaula sighed. "All right. No point in trying to draw the keeper's attention to the fact I lost him. She'd kill me."

"She wouldn't kill you," Nimwen laughed. "Perhaps just take a leg and shave your head."

"No, I'm certain it's kill. Papa and the keeper are very old friends." Alaula started off, her eyes scanning the camp, while she tried to keep out of sight of the keeper.

"I've never heard anything about him from the keeper," Nimwen said. "Has he just come back recently?"

"Everyone's heard of him. They just don't know it. He's the Toymaker," Alaula explained. "He ended up caught up in the mess with the blight twelve years ago and everything else happening in Thedas. He only just managed to come back. He used to visit all the time. Bring us children toys every year and stories for the elders." Her voice was soft, almost impossible to hear over the clamor of the camp.

The Toymaker. Why was that so familiar? "I'd certainly like to meet him. He sounds interesting."

"I just can't figure out how he managed to leave where I left him." Alaula stopped. "He can't walk right now without help. Not until he finishes carving that cane of his," she fritted. "I didn't see any signs of him crawling away either," she muttered.

"Well, we'll find him. There's not many places he can hide in camp," Nimwen said.

"In camp," Alaula muttered. Her eyes widened. "The damaged _aravels_!" She raced off. "Come on, he has to be there."

"Wait!" Nimwen chased after the huntress. It wasn't long until she was panting from the effort. _'I'm getting out of shape,'_ she thought to herself. The baby in her wasn't helping either. She could only imagine Solas's reaction if he found her sprinting across camp.

Alaula skidded to a stop where the damaged _aravels_ were parked. No one was there because of the rain right then. Normally the keeper or the first of the clan would have been seen replacing spells on the _aravels_ while the crafts master and his appearance worked on repairing the damage done from travel.

Upon second glance, there was someone there.

Nimwen's eyes widened at the sight of crazy red hair. "Milliel?"

The huntress perked up, her green eyes widening. "Nimwen?!" she gasped. She dropped the hammer in her hand and ran at the mage. " _Lethallan!_ "

"Milly!" Nimwen laughed as she was swept into her friend's embrace. "Oh, my goodness, it's so good to see you again."

"You're here, you're really here!" Milliel squealed. "By the Creators, I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Come now, Mil, you can't get rid of me that easily," Nimwen chuckled.

Milliel laughed. "Don't I know it, you're like a tick, always by my side."

"Hey!"

"A very lovely tick," Milliel corrected.

Nimwen snorted. Milliel always had a way with words. Seeing her old friend again, really made Nimwen feel at home once more.

"Oh, creators," Alaula set the bowl down on one of the tables. She dived under the _aravel_ Milliel had been next to when they arrived and wiggled until she vanished under completely. "Papa! What are you doing?" her shout sounded from under the _aravel_. "The keeper told you not to work on the _aravels_."

A few moments later, Alaula was dragging herself out from under the _aravel_. Rage flashed in her amber eyes as she looked across to where Milliel and Nimwen stood. She finished pulling herself out from under the _aravel_ before she was on her stomach again.

"I can't believe she listened to you," Alaula muttered. "Or that you convinced her to take you here!"

"Hey," Milliel pouted. "Would you rather he do it unsupervised?"

"I would rather he not do it at all!"

"I can hear you, Alaula," a familiar voice sounded.

Alaula came out again, practically dragging someone out from under the _aravel_. Familiar ragged robes appeared. Alaula helped the thin, elf to his feet. "The keeper told you not to work for your food, papa," Alaula scolded the familiar man.

Nimwen froze, her eyes wide. There was no way, this had to be an illusion. There was no way that was- "Mahvir."

He turned and gave Nimwen a gentle smile. " _Aneth ara_ , Lady Nimwen," he greeted Nimwen with a bow of his head. He looked back at Alaula. "I don't like taking food-"

"Without repaying the giver," Alaula finished, sounding more than a little miffed. "You should know your stories and toys are enough payment to the clan by now! The keeper-"

"Won't be upset with you, _da'len_. Only me."

Nimwen felt her eyes well up. She did not hesitate to run up and hug the man. "It's you, it's really you," she cried.

The two of them fell back into the side of the _aravel_ when Mahvir's leg gave out. "Lady Nimwen," he gasped a little in her embrace.

"Humph," Alaula grunted. "Being crushed by her is the least you can do after disobeying the keeper."

" _Ir-ir abelas_ ," Nimwen smiled sheepishly, vision blurry from tears.

"I presume Solas and Princess Lorien are here as well." Mahvir straightened a little. He looked thinner than the last time Nimwen had seen him.

"Yes, they're here," Nimwen nodded.

"I'm sorry, but what is going on?" Milliel asked. "How do you two know each other?"

Mahvir rubbed the back of his head. "We met over four months ago," he stated.

He hopped back when Alaula took advantage of the fact Nimwen was no longer hugging him. "Eat." She tried to jam the spoon into his mouth.

"Alaula."

"Hold still. The keeper said you will eat and you will eat it, papa!" The two of them fell to the ground where Alaula preceded to pin him there.

"Hey, hey, there's no need for that," Nimwen said to Alaula. "But, as for you, Mahvir, I doubt you've been keeping up with your food, have you?"

Alaula ignored Nimwen as she tried to get the spoon into his mouth while Mahvir blocked her with his arms. "Come on, papa, you're worse than a baby!"

"I've had my share," he retorted, voice light. He managed to wiggle out from Alaula's hold where he stopped, gasping for air. " _Fenedhis_ , this weather," he gasped.

Alaula scowled. "Papa." She took one of the plants from his bag. "Here. Then you will eat."

"What are you doing here, Mahvir?" Nimwen asked as he took the plant.

He settled himself on the muddy ground and reluctantly took the bowl from Alaula. His bad leg remained stretched out to one side. "After I left, I returned to the Denerim alienage," he explained. "I wished to be with Alaula after," he stopped and looked at the food, eyes hollow. Then he shook his head. "Alaula is the last of my children, Lady Nimwen."

Nimwen's eyes widened. "So Valendrian…?" She knelt beside Mahvir and placed a hand on his shoulder. " _Ir abelas,_ Mahvir."

"Valendrian? Who is Valendrian?" asked Milliel.

"He was the _hahren_ of the Denerim alienage," Mahvir explained, voice pained. "His parents were killed during the Orlesian rule of Ferelden. That's when I met him. He was only a baby at the time."

"When did he pass?" Nimwen asked.

"A little over two weeks ago," he whispered.

"Papa, eat or I will force feed you," Alaula forced a change of subject.

"Mahvir, you need to eat," Nimwen agreed. "You're even skinnier than when I saw you last."

"Of course I am, you force feed me for months, Lady Nimwen," Mahvir teased her. At Alaula's sharp look, he bent his head to the soup.

"I am not 'Lady Nimwen,'" Nimwen told him. It hurt her to hear him revert back to the old formal title when they had come so far.

"That's what I said!" Milliel said.

"Last I checked all three of you were women. I feel just like a perverted, old man being surrounded by three such lovely ladies," Mahvir joked.

 _Whack_ \- Alaula smacked his head. "Papa, don't say such things about yourself!"

"Or about your mother." Nimwen's eyes widened when she realized what she just said.

"What?" Milliel squawked.

Nimwen gulped. "Um…"

Mahvir sighed. "She views a lot of people as her children, especially those who refuse to eat, it seems."

"Speaking of which, you're eating right now," Nimwen said, wagging her finger for good measure.

Mahvir moved little back from her.

Seconds later lightening crackled between them. " _Vhenan_!" the sound of Solas's voice came moments later. "Get away from her!" he snarled as he strode towards them, eyes dark with rage.

"Ah, hello to you as well, Solas. I don't believe a battle, right now, would be wise." Mahvir smiled at his father.

"What are you doing?!" Nimwen demanded. "Solas, stop that! Are you mad?"

Solas spat something at Mahvir in elvish. The words going so fast no one could understand them.

"Are we exchanging insults in elvish so the children can't understand?" Mahvir asked, voice light. "Rather rude of you."

Solas scowled. "What are you doing here, Dirth-" he cut off and glanced at Milliel and Alaula.

"What are you doing here, is a better question considering your views," Mahvir replied, tone polite.

"My views have nothing to do with this."

"At least we are speaking comman."

"Bastard," Solas snarled.

"Yes, and who's doing is that?"

Solas paled.

"That is enough, Solas." Nimwen glared at him. "Don't you ever speak to him like that again, do you hear me?"

Solas gave Nimwen an even look then turned his gaze back on Mahvir.

"Being scolded by your mate?" Mahvir asked.

Solas hissed something in elvish to Mahvir, ears red.

"Solas," Nimwen warned him.

"I'm sorry, but what in the Creators' names is going on?" Milliel demanded.

"A good question, Lady Milliel." Mahvir set down the empty bowl. "Alaula, if you would so so kind as to aid me up."

"Yes, papa!" Alaula dropped her hand from where it had been resting on her bow. She moved to help Mahvir stand instead and stayed at his side. She kept her eyes locked on Solas, mistrust glittered there.

The two of them started off. Mahvir's placed next to no weight on his leg. He paused, forcing Alaula to stop. He spoke in elvish to Solas, but this time Nimwen managed to catch what was said, " _I will avoid you if you do me, but I am not leaving the clan_." With those words he nodded to Alaula and she helped him forward once more.

Nimwen turned to Solas, arms crossed; eyes narrowed. "What was that?"

Solas turned to her. He cocked an eyebrow. The anger still glittered in his eyes despite his expression being more passive.

"We find him again, and _that_ is how you choose to respond? Just-just _why_ , Solas? Tell me one reason why that is how you treat your son."

"Wait, what?" Milliel squawked. "Did you just say son?"

"Yes," Nimwen confirmed. "Mahvir is Solas's son and my stepson." Ignoring the look of shock on the huntress' face, Nimwen turned back to her lover. "Now, answer my question."

"He will always be the son of my brother," Solas replied in even tones.

"Not unless you change it!" Nimwen was fuming, absolutely outraged. She couldn't think of a time where she was more angry at Solas. Not even when he broke up with her, not even when he left. Nothing compared to the frustration she felt now. "He is your son, Solas, and you had better start treating him like it. He's already had one shit of a father, I won't let him have two."

Solas looked down at her. For a long moment his expression remained hard; then, his eyes softened a little. He sighed and shook his head. "This means a lot to you?" there was a slight hint of a question to his voice. So slight she only caught it because she had spent so much time with him.

"The moment she was born, you thought Lori was not yours, that she had a different father." Nimwen sighed. "But then you learned the truth, and now she's your _da'vhenan_. Why is it different now?"

Solas looked away from Nimwen before he took a deep breath. He looked back at her. "There is a difference between her and," he hesitated, "Mahvir, as you call him. She's three, he's," - he glanced towards Milliel - "not. Hatred kept over so long doesn't vanish overnight, Nimwen, on either side. As you said, my brother wasn't the greatest of fathers to him, there is a lot he keeps hidden as well."

"Which is why we need to bring him in, not push him away." She reached for his hand. " _Vhenan_ , I don't expect either of you to solve all of your problems immediately, I know it will take time. But, please, _try_. Show him that he has a family that loves him, one he belongs to. Be his father."

Solas rubbed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible in elvish under his breath. "Very well, _vhenan_."

" _Ma serannas_." She pressed her forehead to his. "We can work through this, _ma lath_ , I know we can."

Solas didn't quite meet her gaze, but he gave the slightest of nods, hampered by the fact she was still so close to him.

"Um…"

Nimwen tensed as she remembered that she and Solas were not alone. She turned to see a dumbstruck Milliel staring at them. Nimwen chuckled nervously. "I, um, may have a few things I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, you _think_?"

"I promise I'll explain everything." How Nimwen was going to do that, she had no idea. Giving Milliel the whole truth, would mean revealing the truth of the _evanuris_ , and Nimwen wasn't sure whether or not she should tell her friend, or anyone in the clan for that matter. She felt guilty for harboring such a major revelation, but her clan was devout in their worship of the Creators. It bound them together, it was their culture, their history. It had devastated Nimwen when she learned the truth, and she didn't want her people to endure what she went through.

Solas looked from Nimwen to Milliel. "I presume you're a friend of Nimwen's?"

Milliel blinked. "Huh? Yes, yes. Milliel Suren Lavellan at your service." The huntress bowed. "And you must be Solas. Well, yes, you are Solas. She yelled your name enough times to make it clear."

The tips of Solas's ears turned red, but even embarrassed he managed to maintain a dignified look. "Yes, I am Solas."

"So, where is the little one? You'd better not be hiding her," Milliel said.

"She's with the other children," Solas stated.

"Well then let's go to the children. I demand to see your child, _lethallan_ ," Milliel smirked.

"Very well, I would like to make sure she's all right," Nimwen agreed.

Solas turned Nimwen. "I was coming to inform you the keeper gave us one of the spare _aravels_ for the duration of our stay."

"Oh, good. Looks like Sinderon won't have to make room after all," she smirked.

Solas just gave her an even look. "I will see to the nug." He nodded to her and then to Milliel. He turned and strode off.

Nimwen watched him as he left, sighing. They could get through this, couldn't they? They had to. Nimwen had her family back, and she was not going to let them split apart again. Just thinking about it made her feel drained, but that could also be the baby inside her.

"So…"

Nimwen squeaked as her arm was taken.

Milliel stared at her with a cat-like grin. "First, we see the little one, and then you tell me everything."


	5. Chapter 5

Dirthamen sat with his back against a tree. He could just see the children playing, but they couldn't see him thanks to the bushes. He smiled, grateful for a moment's peace. Though, most people might not call hearing the cries and laughter of children peace. Just watching them, helped ease the pain deep in him. A pain which had deepened upon seeing Solas again.

A small breath escaped Dirthamen and he lowered his gaze to the long stick he had been shaping into a cane over the past few days. It was almost done. Soon, he would be able to walk without the aid of others. Though, he knew he would never regain the same level of use he had in his leg before Solas had broken it. Well, what little use he had in that leg. The splint on his leg at least helped him stand and place some weight on it.

Dirthamen looked up in time to see Solas moving around the camp. The older elf carried a bag on his back and cage with a nug in it. The poor creature looked to be freezing despite the warmer air this far north. Winter would be falling soon and the air held the chill of it in every pained breath Dirthamen took.

His gaze flickered in the direction of two newcomers. It was Nimwen and Milliel. His eyes were drawn away from Nimwen and locked on Milliel. Images flashed across his vision - _no_! Dirthamen squeezed his eyes shut. That future wasn't one he wanted. It wasn't one he deserved.

He could shift his hearing so that he could pick up pieces here and there as echoes through the clan. Though his ability did also mean he heard distant sounds from further away. If he focused, he would be able to hear what was happening in a city across the Waking Sea. Instead he settled on listening to Milliel and Nimwen.

"Oh, look at her, she's so precious!" Milliel cooed.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Nimwen smiled.

"And she looks so much like you."

"Everyone says that, but I think she looks more like her father."

"Are you kidding me? Those eyes, those lips. That's all you, _lethallan_."

Dirthamen smiled to himself. He shifted a little. A sharp pain pulsed from his leg when he moved it. No sound escaped him even as the pain echoed through time. It wasn't a bad pain, he had felt far worse.

Milliel was right. Lorien did look a lot like her mother.

"So, any plans for another?" Milliel asked cheekily.

Nimwen blushed. "Well…"

The huntresses' jaw dropped. "Truly?"

Dirthamen smiled. So he had been right after all, not that this was news or really shocking. Warmth filled him but not because he had been right. He was happy for Nimwen.

"Please, don't tell anyone just yet," Nimwen begged.

Milliel squealed and pulled Nimwen into a bear hug. "By Mythal, this is great! Oh, congratulations, Nim. How far along are you?"

Dirthamen felt his smile falter a little at the mention of Mythal.

"We just learned not too long ago," Nimwen explained.

"I think I can actually see the bump," Milliel said, pressing her hand to the other elf's stomach. "You are so lucky, _lethallan_. What I would give to have some kids of my own."

A brief image passed through Dirthamen's mind once more. He could see Milliel with child.

"Take all the time you want, please. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts," Nimwen chuckled.

He shook his head. "Stop it," he hissed to himself. Granted such a future could have just come as a certainty for her.

"Don't worry, I plan to," Milliel smirked. "And first I need to find a proper mate before I even think of children." The huntress sighed. "One day I'll find my tall, dark, and handsome."

Well, that sounded like Nimwen's brother, Dirthamen mused. Granted the looks Milliel had been giving Sinderon on their way to the camp told Dirthamen all he had needed to know. He chuckled to himself and put the last touch on the simple cane.

Solas was busy elsewhere and thus it would be safe to test the cane a little. Dirthamen pulled himself to his feet. He almost collapsed the first attempt. The second was easier. At least now he wouldn't have to rely on others to walk. He moved out from behind the bushes and tree once certain Solas wouldn't be coming this way again anytime soon. He chanced a glance at Nimwen and Milliel before starting off. His pace almost agonizingly slow.

"Mahvy!" a familiar voice squealed.

Dirthamen smiled and turned. "Princess Lorien." He gave the girl a deep bow.

She raced towards him in a clumsy sprint, her arms outstretched and a grin on her face. She was so focused on Dirthamen she didn't see the dip in the ground until she'd tripped over it. Abruptly her running stopped as she landed right on her face in front of Dirthamen. What started as a low whine exploded into wailing.

Dirthamen settled himself on the ground and moved Lorien off the ground and into his lap. It was struggle to just lift her this short distance. "Hush, now, _da'len_."

He pulled out a toy he had been carving her for when he would next see her. It was a wooden doll with her golden-yellow hair made for soft strands of thread so it looked real. The doll wore a pretty green dress he had sown. He held out the doll to her.

Her face was red and wet with tears. Snot dripped from her nose as she took the doll. "F-for me?" she hiccuped.

"Of course she's for you. She looks like you," he teased Lorien a little. "Now, let me see the damage." He turned her face gently towards him. With a spare cloth he dabbed the tears, dirt, and snot from her face. "There good as new."

She sniffled, hugging the doll to her chest. " _M-ma ser-serannas,_ Mahvy," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Lori, are you all right?"

" _Mamae_ ," Lorien turned to the approaching woman. "Look, it brother. He give me doll!" she grinned, as if she had not just been sobbing on the ground.

"Did he now?" Nimwen looked at Dirthamen with a loving smile. "That was quite kind of you."

"What good are brothers but to spoil their sisters rotten?" Dirthamen joked. He lifted Lorien off his lap. "It is wonderful to see you again, Princess. But, next time, please watch your feet and not me." He tapped her nose.

Lorien giggled. "Okay, big brother."

"By the Creators, you are too much," Milliel grinned as she joined the group. "Can I steal her, _lethallan_?"

"Sorry, she's all mine," Nimwen retorted. " _Da'len_ , I want you to meet Milliel, she's an old friend of _mamae's_."

"Hi," Lorien waved.

"Ooh, I could just eat you up," Milliel cooed, pinching the toddler's cheek. "What's that you got there?" asked the huntress, pointing to the doll.

"Big brother made it," Lorien grinned, hugging the doll close.

Dirthamen smiled at the sight. This was what he liked most about making toys. The joy on a child's face afterwards. The way the child would boost to his or her parents and friends and the larger joy it brought when the child played with toy. There was something different about it being Lorien though. His own joy felt warmer.

"Did you make sure to thank him?" Nimwen asked.

"Oh!" Lorien turned to Dirthamen. " _Ma serannas,_ Mahvy." She grasped his face in her tiny hands and kissed his cheek.

Dirthamen chuckled. "Once more, you are quite welcome, little princess." He glanced towards the other children. All of them were still engrossed in their game. Tonight was the night he would give them their toys, right after supper and before the evening stories. His smile softened a little at the warm images in his mind.

"Why you here, Mahvy?" Lorien asked. "Why you no home?"

He turned back to Lorien and placed his hand on her small shoulder. "Wherever the People are is my home," he explained. "Your home is with your parents." He winced, inside realizing too late the words would affect another.

"I like my house, it pretty," Lorien told him. "I gotta green room, and Nummy has pillow bed next to mine. He loves it."

"I bet he does," Dirthamen kept his voice gentle even as he looked at Nimwen out of the corner of his eye.

"You room nice too," Lorien continued to say. "But _mamae_ say I no go in there-"

"Lori, come here you have some dirt on your cheek," Nimwen interrupted, her cheeks pink.

Lorien pouted. " _Mamae,_ I talk," she whined as her mother wiped at her cheek with her thumb.

Dirthamen looked away from Nimwen. He could never be happy in a city, not in full blooded human parts of it. Not living such a life again. And not close to Solas. He had known growing close to Nimwen and Lorien would hurt them and yet had done so. It was a mistake he would never let happen again. He wasn't supposed to be happy. His mind flashed to Valendrian, little more than bone in his final moments.

Dirthamen took a deep breath. He moved, rolling so he could struggle back to his feet. After a few clumsy moments, he managed to use the cane to get back up. He turned his gaze on the clan. In the end, places like this. The brief moments with his People. This was his home.

"So, Milliel," Nimwen began. "When will my brother be returning?"

"He might be back by tonight," the huntress replied. "But who knows, he might be stuck in a beaver den for all I know."

"Please don't put that thought in my head," Nimwen sighed.

"They'll be back shortly. The air is getting too cold for a longer hunt." Dirthamen could feel the cold tightening his lungs with each passing second. His breathing wasn't strained but the feeling for his lungs tightening and the achs racing through his body were always a sign cold would be on them. "It might snow tonight," his voice held no cheer at the idea he knew to be truth. Snow, gah, he had always despised it.

"Snow!" Lorien cheered, her feelings on snow appearing to differ from her brother's.

Dirthamen chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Yes, a wonderful place to play," he conceded.

"Make snowman! You, daddy, and _mamae_ help."

Yes, because that would go so well. He could see the fight between him and Solas which would happen and the tears in his sister's eyes. " _Ir abelas_ , Princess." Dirthamen smiled down at her. "But I would rather avoid your tears." He turned his gaze back to the clan.

Deshanna was gesturing to him.

"I must be going, Princess." He bent down, careful not to sit back on the ground for he knew he wouldn't be able to get back up this time. He patted Lorien's head. "I'll speak with you later." He limped off, feeling the ache of cold had settled into his bad leg. It worsened his already terrible limp. He could still hear them speaking as if he hadn't left their side.

"What he mean, _mamae_?" Lorien asked her mother.

"It's nothing, _da'len_."

"What is going on, Nimwen? This sounds serious," Milliel asked.

Nimwen sighed. "It's complicated, Milliel. Mahvir and Solas have some reconciling to do, and I'm worried neither is going to make an effort to try."

"That's a horrible burden to bear. Don't let it get to you too much, all right?"

"I just wish they believed me when I told them sitting down and talking would help solve their problems."

Or cause an argument over Mythal. Dirthamen shoved those thoughts away as he approached the keeper.

"Good, you're here." She smiled at him. "The hunters had another successful hunt. A good thing too with Nimwen coming back." Her eyes clouded with worry.

Dirthamen placed his hand on her shoulder. "She might still fully return. Your clan will have a future, Deshanna."

"Know that, do you?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, looking almost sever.

He smiled. "My, I feel almost like one of the children under your gaze." He feigned fear, dropping back onto his good leg and leaning away from her.

She gave him a playful punch to the chest. "Hush, you," she hissed, acting several decades younger.

"In all seriousness, your clan still has you, Deshanna. You will find a solution."

"And you will entertain the children with stories while the meal is prepared. She took hold of his shoulders, talon like nails pressed into the thick layers of cloth as she forcefully turned him.

"What? I don't get to help make the meal?" he joked, faking shock.

She slapped the back of his head, so lightly it couldn't be called a slap. "You're not working for your food. And no more going off with Milliel to work on the _aravels_."

Dirthamen smiled and opened his mouth in a fake attempt to protest.

She glared at him.

"You are a cruel, cruel woman and I can now walk quite well on my own."

She released his shoulders. The two of them continued back across the camp towards where Milliel and Nimwen stood.

"And you need to get it through your thick head to do as I say," she joked back, wagging her finger at him.

"Of course, Great Keeper." He bowed to her.

 _Whack_ \- she tapped his head with her staff. "Deshanna."

"What not 'Keeper?'" He limped a little out of her reach, grinning.

"Are you arguing with the keeper?" Nimwen smirked. "Not the safest of choices, Mahvir."

"Perhaps one day he will listen." Deshanna gave him a stern look.

Dirthamen smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

"No," she stopped him before he could speak. "You're not helping cook."

He chuckled and opened his mouth again.

"Or repairing the _aravels_." Her eyes flashed a little.

He repeated this.

"Or whatever else you are going to say you will do."

"So I am not to entrain the children?" he teased.

She flushed. "You!" Then she laughed. "I've missed your company, old friend."

"And I, yours."

"What 'bout me?" Lorien asked, squirming in Nimwen's arms. "Miss me, Mahvy?"

Dirthamen looked at Lorien. "Every day, little princess." To the keeper he added, "Very well, I will entrain the children with Tales of the Adventuress Halla."

"It is a good thing this group won't remember such stories. I do believe it's where Nimwen got her love of halla from."

Dirthamen chuckled and turned to Nimwen. "Though, I doubt she remembers my visits well," he teased. "After all she was but ten when I last visited the clan."

Nimwen blinked. "Wait, you really did visit us before?" Her eyes widened. "I can't believe this. What-what are even the odds?"

Deshanna cocked an eyebrow. "Quite high considering how much of a foresight he seems to have."

"Ah, you love the fact I know what you're going to-" He gasped when she struck him in the stomach.

"Hey, now, let's avoid injury," Milliel joked. "We need him for stories, remember?"

"Story! Story!" Lorien clapped. "Mahvy tell good story, like daddy!"

Dirthamen cleared his throat. He so did dislike it when people compared him to Solas. "Perhaps you would like to join the other children, Princess?" he asked with a slight bow. "Or stay with your new found aunt and grandmother." He ducked before Deshanna could strike him.

"I dunno. Maybe I-huh?" Lorien looked up as Nimwen put her on the ground.

"You all right, Nimwen? You look paler," Milliel asked.

"E-excuse me," Nimwen quickly said. Without warning she took off towards the trees.

"Where's she going?" Milliel raised her brow.

"I would say you will one day understand, but that would be guesswork on my part," Mahvir stated.

Deshanna was scowling.

"Why _mamae_ leave?" Lorien asked Dirthamen.

"She's with child again, isn't she?" Deshanna glared at Dirthamen.

"And I am the one at fault, pardon?" Dirthamen avoided answering directly. "I would take the matter up with her mate, not me."

" _Mamae_ has baby in her tummy!" Lorien proclaimed.

"Now, more than ever, those two must be bonded," Deshanna grumbled. "One child born out of bond-ties was hard enough to smooth over, but two? This must be fixed."

"Yes, that will work well considering he's clueless about bounding and marriage," Dirthamen muttered more to himself than to anyone around him. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them as he looked at the keeper.

"Then you wouldn't mind teaching him," she said with a sly smile.

Dirthamen felt ice form in his stomach. "I wouldn't say wouldn't," he started.

"You're clearly not Dalish, Theon and I agreed he would be more likely to respond to you. And you do know our traditions better than some clan born."

Dirthamen wanted to find some way to wiggle out of this. He knew there was none and the ice only felt as if it increased in size. He just stared at the keeper, expression blank.

"Consider it your payment for the food and healing." She patted his shoulder. "I will introduce you two in the morning and you had better teach the man fast, Mahvir." With that she turned and strode away.

"Creators," Dirthamen let out a long, low breath as he remembered to switch out proclaiming to the Maker for the Dalish gods instead. He lowered his hand. This wasn't going to go well.

"What wrong, brother?" Lorien asked. "What she talkin' 'bout with _mamae_?"

"Your mother and father had you before they were considered together by the clan," Mahvir informed Lorien. "In order for you to become part of the clan fully, they need to be bonded." He smiled down at his sister. "Don't worry, they're planning on it, Princess."

"You should have seen the keeper when she first found out Nimwen was with child." Milliel chuckled, but there was an underlying sadness in her eyes. "She was livid. It took her weeks before she even attempted to write back. She did eventually find it in herself to forgive Nimwen. I think it was because it was Nim's first time away from the clan, savior of the world, all that nonsense. Alone, amidst all that crazy, who knows what would happen, right? But now… Deshanna is a reasonable woman, and far more open than other keepers as far as I know, but I think those two _really_ need to get bonded quick."

Dirthamen smiled. "They do. She's been upset since Nimwen returned for more than one reason," he agreed. "Though, she's also happy to have new blood in the clan. It's rare to have this many children for the People." His gaze moved back to the small grouping of children. The future of their People rested with that group and all of others spread across Thedas. His heart ached at the burdened they bared.

"Look, _mamae_ coming," Lorien said as she pointed towards the trees.

Nimwen slowly emerged from the trees. Though a little disheveled, she looked much better than she had earlier. "Sorry about that," she smiled sheepishly. "Unfortunate side effect." She frowned as she looked around. "Did the keeper leave?"

"She did, with stern orders about bounding fast," Dirthamen stated then gave Nimwen a small smile.

Nimwen sighed. "I knew she would carp about that the moment we arrived, granted I should just be lucky she hasn't exiled me yet."

Dirthamen placed his hand Nimwen's shoulder. "She's happy deep down. She only acts stern because she cares about you."

That managed to garner a small smile from Nimwen. " _Ma serannas,_ Mahvir."

"Speaking of bondings," Milliel cut in. "Have you started on you _eth'enansal_?"

Nimwen's eyes widened. "Oh no."

Milliel blanched. "You _forgot_? Creators, how are you going to make it in time?"

"What wrong?" asked Lorien.

The redhead knelt down next to the toddler. "You see, _da'len_ , the _eth'enansal_ is a very important part of a Dalish bonding. It's a blanket that the wife makes for her husband. They all must symbolize the Creators, but aside from that each one is completely unique. She gives it to her husband during the bonding, and when they have a child, they swaddle the baby in it, so that their child can be protected by their love and the gods." Milliel looked up at Nimwen. "And somebody forgot to make it."

"What am I going to do?" Nimwen groaned. "There's no way I can get it done, at least not one I'd dare give to Solas."

"Plus you need to keep him from seeing it," Milliel added. "A man seeing the _eth'enansal_ before the bonding is bad luck."

"You're not helping," Nimwen snapped.

Dirthamen shifted a little. "There might be away you can take time on it but it will still be ready in time without a man seeing the blanket." He could use his _gift_ to manipulate time around her without affecting her pregnancy it would just affect the speed she could make the blanket.

"How?" the two women asked in unison.

"You two could almost be twins with the way you said that," he teased with a soft smile. Then, he cleared his throat. "Lady Nimwen is well aware of a gift I possess." He pulled out a ring from his pocket. "Wear this while you make the blanket. It will speed up your work without affecting you or the pregnancy." He pressed the ring into her hand. It contained a small amount of his power. "You should, theoretically, be able to finish several months' worth of work in a few nights."

Nimwen examined the ring closely. She turned to Dirthamen, brow raised. "You're certain this will work?"

"Ah, you don't trust my word after all this time," he teased. "Here I thought we had it down I know everything," he kept his voice light and joking as he winked at Nimwen.

She lightly smacked his arm, though she was smiling. "Oh hush, you. _Ma serannas_ , I'm sure this will help immensely."

"Now all you need to do is come up with the design!" Milliel said.

Dirthamen chuckled. "And this is where I leave you three." He gave them a deep bow. "I have the Tales of the Adventurous Halla to tell the children before supper."

"Can't wait," Milliel grinned.

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow at Milliel. "Are you not a little old to be a child?" he asked her, teasing.

She blinked. "I, uh," she sputtered, cheeks growing pink. "W-well, it's just your story last time was amazing, incredible. I was just th-thinking, well, perhaps it _would_ be odd for me to be there…" She ran a hand through her mane of curls. "I don't know what I'm saying."

"Relax, I was only teasing you. It would fine if you joined as well, Lady Milliel." Dirthamen turned his gaze on Lorien. "Are you going to stay with your _mamae_ , Princess?"

Lorien looked up at her mother. "I go brother's story?"

"Of course, _da'len_. I'm sure Mahvir wouldn't mind you being there."

"Yay!" Lorien grabbed his hand. "Mahvy tell story!"

"Come along then, Princess." Mahvir started off, smiling. "I'm certain you will love this story."

* ~ X ~ *

Nimwen watched with a smile as the two walk away together. She felt someone tap her shoulder. "What?" she asked Milliel.

"Turn around."

Curious, the mage turned around, and immediately gasped. "Brother!" she grinned. She saw Sinderon drop his bow as she raced towards him. She jumped up to link her arms around his neck, and felt him hug her waist as she was lifted off her feet.

"Nimwen."

Hearing that deep voice, rough and rumbling like a storm and yet so gentle, made her feel more at home than she had since she'd arrived. "It's so good to see you again, I've missed you, Sinderon."

"And I you, _da'sulahn_."

It had been a long time since Nimwen had felt homesick for her clan. After a while, during her time in the Inquisition and the years after that, it died down only to stir up every now and again. The uttering of her old nickname opened up the gateways, and with a quivering lip Nimwen was hit with how much she'd missed her brother and her clan. She hugged him tighter, and felt him do the same. He smelled of leather and dirt, pine and halla fur, just as he did when she hugged him goodbye before she left for the Conclave.

"So," Nimwen sighed as she released the older elf. "Let me get a good look at you."

He had changed very little since she last saw him. His hair was longer, his braid now reached the bottom of his waist. She noticed a new scar on his shoulder and another on his forearm, but aside from that, he was still the big brother she remembered.

"How long have you been here?"

"We arrived not too long ago," Nimwen explained. "I can't wait for you to meet Solas and Lori. Lori especially has been excited to meet her uncle."

Sinderon's lips twitched upwards, and Nimwen saw the twinkle in his eyes. "Where is she?"

"She's attending story time with the rest of the children." She linked her arm with Sinderon's more muscled one. "I'll introduce you two afterwards. For now, you and I have some catching up to do."

Sinderon hummed in agreement.

*~ x ~*

"Theon." Dirthamen pulled himself into Theon's _aravel_ after supper. He hadn't bothered to knock, Theon was alone. "You agreed with Deshanna I would be best to teach Solas?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

Theon looked up from the scroll he had been reading. He was wrapped in several thick blankets given to him over the years by members of the clan. "Please, close the door, you're letting out what little warmth there is, Mahvir."

The door snapped shut behind Dirthamen. He remained standing, leaning heavily on his cane. This was one of Dirthamen's favorite _aravels_ in the entire clan. Scrolls and what little books the People of this clan had were placed neatly on one shelf. A bed was tucked in one corner which was where Theon lay while there was a larger space where the children would gather while on the move for lessons. A few instruments crafted by the craftmaster leaned against one wall, tucked away for the children to learn songs the clans had recovered.

Despite the cold outside and what Theon had stated, the _aravel_ was pleasantly warm. The heat from the lamps helped take the chill from air.

Theon straightened in his bed to make room. "Join me, Shartan?" Theon asked, dropping Dirthamen's other name since they were alone.

"You should know to just call me 'Mahvir,'" Dirthamen stated. He limped over to the bed and sat down at the foot of it.

"Indulge me, old friend." Theon smiled then cleared his throat. "On the matter you came here in huff about, yes, I thought he would respond best to you."

Dirthamen took a deep breath and looked away from his friend.

"He doesn't appear too trusting of Dalish," Theon continued. "I've only encountered humans who were so stiff when speaking with Deshanna and myself before now. You don't look like a Dalish, though the clan does consider you an honorary member." He chuckled. "Perhaps the most _honored_ member." There was teasing note now to Theon's voice. "He would react better to someone who doesn't appear a part of the clan."

It was true enough, Solas didn't care much for the Dalish. Yet, Dirthamen knew Solas would react worse to him than any Dalish. When they spoke it wouldn't be tradition Solas wanted to focus on either, rather their relation. Dirthamen closed his eyes.

"I know that look. You're troubled."

Dirthamen smiled. "Perhaps a little, _ma falon_."

"Yes, only 'a little.' That look says doom upon the clan." Theon's hand was warm on Dirthamen's shoulder. "You know Solas already, don't you?"

There was no getting around Theon. The man knew Dirthamen too well at this point. "I encountered him a few months back in Denerim. Our meeting wasn't what one would call polite." Though, it had been what Dirthamen had expected his "father" to do when they met. His leg throbbed with the past agony of being broken.

"So, he was the one who broke your bad leg." Theon let out a long sigh. He leaned back against the wall, scroll on his lap. "I can see to explaining tradition to him, _ma falon_."

Dirthamen bowed his head. Solas's reaction to being told tradition by Theon wasn't a good one. While Theon was patient and kind to all elvhen, the mere fact he had guessed it had been Solas who harmed Dirthamen had moved his view of Solas to barely tolerable and not suited to be the husband of Nimwen.

"I would rather avoid trouble between you and him, Theon." Dirthamen touched Theon's hand. His own strength was reflected in Theon's wizened hand. His heart twisted at the feeling. There had been a time Theon had been strong enough to defend himself while searching ruins for knowledge on their People's forgotten past. "I came only to talk about it. What part of tradition should I cover?"

Theon's eyes grew pained. "Always the protector. Some day you will have to realize, we are just as capable for protecting you as you are us, Shartan." Theon then cleared his throat. "I would go over the lead up to ceremony with him. Explain why it's necessary if he doesn't understand. Otherwise the ceremony itself can be left for a little later."

" _Ma serannas_ , _Hahren_ Theon." Dirthamen bowed his head to his friend.

"Ha, very funny. It's always been just 'Theon' to you, _ma falon_."

"Of course, but it never hurts for me to be respectful to you," Dirthamen teased. " _Da'len_ ," he added the last part in a softer voice.

Theon chuckled. "Come, aid me with this translation before you depart for the night."

"If you wish." Dirthamen leaned his cane against the bed. He pushed himself back so he was leaning against the wall beside Theon.

"I do." Theon unrolled the scroll. The heavy scent of must clung to the fragile parchment. "So much has faded," Theon sighed. "But such is the way of what remains."

Dirthamen recognized the piece as one of the early writings from the Dales. It was a mishmash of elvhen and ancient Tervene. He smiled and settled himself back to aid with translating what they could make out of the scroll.

By the time Dirthamen had left the _aravel_ , Theon had started to drift into the easy sleep age brought. He had helped Theon lay down and replaced the scroll on the shelf. Then Dirthamen had departed for the night, leaving Theon to get some much needed rest.

Dirthamen waited at the edge of the camp. His eyes locked on the People as they moved about in the early morning. There was a light dusting of snow covering the ground, a thin, cold sheet easily brushed aside from white to muddy brown.

Dirthamen shivered and pulled at his tattered robes. His breathing uneven despite the fact he was only standing there. His breath rose in the thinnest plumes of mist, not as notable compared to those who were moving from _aravel_ to _aravel_ in the early light of dawn. Granted they had spent the night in warmth inside while he slept under his thin blanket in the most sheltered part of the forest close to the camp.

" _You're scared, I feel your fears churning in you, ripe for the picking_ ," Fear's voice echoed in Dirthamen's mind.

" _Leave me be, Fear. I am well aware my heart is uneasy_." Dirthamen shut out the demon's voice before the annoying bird could continue to poke at the churning emotions in Dirthamen.

He took a deep breath of the crisp air. The scent of snow clung to air, sharp and bitter against his lungs. The cold bite deep into his lungs, closing it's icy talons around them. He exhaled the breath, feeling the air shudder through him, weak but not so much so he couldn't breath. He was fine.

The keeper appeared from the center of the camp. Behind her Solas came, his sharp, seed-shaped eyes narrowed in suspicion as he caught sight of Dirthamen. Dirthamen felt as if the air had turned from cold to ice.

"Good morning, Deshanna," Dirthamen greeted the keeper when the two of them had stopped before him. "I hope you slept well despite the cold."

"Better than you by the looks of it." Deshanna eyed him. "You needn't sleep in the cold, old friend."

"I am fine with it. Besides since when does an insomniac need a warm place to sleep?" he teased her.

Deshanna shook her head and turned to Solas. "This is Mahvir. He will instruct you on our traditions. I expect you to listen and learn from him." Deshanna turned back to Dirthamen. "Teach him well." She bowed her head to them. " _Dareth Shiral_." She left the two of them alone at the edge of the Dalish camp.

For a long moment Dirthamen and Solas just stood their in stoic silence. Dirthamen shifted, placing more weight onto his good leg.

He cleared his throat. "Shall we?" Dirthamen asked as he gestured into the forest where they wouldn't be overheard by the People. Without waiting for Solas to reply, Dirthamen limped forward. Every other step he placed all of his weight onto the cane.

The soft sound of Solas's bare feet against the frozen ground followed. Dirthamen didn't need to turn to know Solas was following him, arms behind his back, stride just as noble as it had always been. The stance of a man who believed he was always right even if he was completely wrong.

Then, there was Dirthamen's slow, ragged pace. A pace of, not a noble or a god, but a poor, broken beggar. A man who'd seen too much and lost far more. How different he was from Solas and, how much they were the same. Though it galled Dirthamen to the bone to admit it, he was like his-his father in many ways. It was why Nimwen had connected them, why Cassandra had called him "Solas."

Dirthamen stopped when his breathing became too tight to continue. He leaned against a tree to rest his leg and his burning lungs.

Solas stopped and stood as still as stone across from Dirthamen. His pale eyes locked on Dirthamen, face straight and emotionless. His gaze burned with a harsh mistrust mixed with confusion.

A stab of pain shot through Dirthamen's heart. Solas would never see him in the same light he saw Lorien. He kept his gaze locked on Solas's. "Keeper Deshanna asked for me to tell you how Dalish tradition works with bonding."

Solas shifted. "Dirthamen, can we discuss that later?"

"The first thing is to remember to hunt an animal and bring the pelt to the keeper and clan _hahren_. This is to prove yourself capable of taking care of your mate when she's with child and unable to hunt for the clan."

"Dirthamen." Solas took a step towards him.

Dirthamen continued to ignore Solas. "Once this is done, the clan will hold a ceremony in which the two of your will exchange vows to the creators. During this time, Nimwen will present you with the _eth'enansal_. A blanket honoring the creators used for your children when they're born. And, I don't care about your views of the others, it's important you uphold this tradition lest the keeper and _hahren_ will see you as unfit. This could end with Nimwen and both of your children being exiled _permanently_ from the clan."

Solas blinked. He shifted and glanced back towards the camp. It couldn't be seen through the trees given how far they had traveled. "I would never do anything to intentionally harm her." Solas looked back at Dirthamen. "Enough on Dalish tradition right now. We need to talk."

"We have nothing to discuss, Solas," Dirthamen stated as he straightened. He didn't want to fight with Solas. He didn't want the pain. Dirthamen started forward but the feeling of a hand on his shoulder echoed to him from the future moments before he felt it become a reality. "Solas, _vallem venavis_."

"Dirth."

Dirthamen closed his eyes at the sound of his childhood name.

"Please, I want to try to be a father to you."

"But not for me," Dirthamen stated, his voice even. "You want to prove yourself a good father in Nimwen's eyes and in your own."

"Dirth."

" _Banal_!" Dirthamen snapped, his voice shaking with pain. He turned to Solas and looked him in the eye. The pain shook through him. "You had your chance so many times in my life to be a father, to just be my _uncle_." Dirthamen took a deep breath. He had to fight the feeling of his throat closing and the cold constricting his already poor breathing. He had to calm down.

"Dirth." Solas moved so his hand was on Dirthamen's shoulder once more, his grip tight and binding. "Let me try to make up the wrongs I've committed to you."

"No one can take back what's between us." Dirthamen looked Solas in the eye. It was harder to battle back another spurt of rage and pain snapping at his stomach and heart to be released.

"Let me try. I want to be a father you deserve."

"You _want_." Dirthamen shook his head. "It's always what _you_ want."

Solas stepped towards him, pale eyes intense. "Please, Dirth."

" _Banal_ ," Dirthamen growled. "You are no father to me. You weren't even an _uncle_ to me. You tried to kill me four months ago and couldn't even get that right!"

Solas blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted you to kill me!" Dirthamen shouted as the rage and pain he had kept bottled in him towards Solas snapped free of its bindings. "I am tired of living. Tired of watching children die while I remain the same because you," - Dirthamen pointed at Solas - " _you_ always took Mythal at her word!"

Solas's grip tightened on Dirthamen's shoulder until Dirthamen could feel the viselike grip lock him there. "Dirth," Solas whispered.

"I was eight years old," Dirthamen was shaking, his breathing strained from the cold and intensity of his rage. "I was _eight_."

Solas's eyes widened. "Mythal said-"

"Mythal!" Dirthamen spat his mother's name. "That's the problem, you believed her and for that, seven years the experiments followed!"

"Dirth, I tried to stop it."

"And every time, every _single_ time you believed her! You stopped short of comforting Elgar'nan yourself." Dirthamen felt his eyes burning. No! He wouldn't break down before Solas. Solas deserved to hear all of this. "I was never as important to you as _her_." Dirthamen took hold of the wolfjaw necklace Solas wore. He didn't have the physical strength to rip it from Solas's neck though he longed to. "I was never even your nephew, not after I turned eight. You picked Mythal _every time_ over a child who couldn't say 'no.'"

"Dirth." Solas wrapped his hand around Dirthamen's thin wrist. Solas's hand shook.

"Don't you dare say I could have!" Dirthamen screamed. "I wanted him to notice me! I wanted him to, for once, look at with approval like he did with Falon! To have Mythal draw me close in a loving embrace she gave him and my other half siblings! I wanted a father's approval and a mother's unconditional love more than anything else in the world!"

"Dirth-"

"The one adult in my life who I trusted, the one I thought cared for me, never once stopped the torment." Dirthamen's entire body was shaking. "Don't you dare come to me, after all these years, after all your hatred towards me, and say 'you want to be my father.' You're no father." Dirthamen drew close to Solas, his breathing ragged, eyes burning with unshed tears, and throat tight with rage. "You're not my family," he hissed. "And I don't _want_ you to be _my_ father. I don't need a father." He spat in Solas's face.

Solas's eyes were wide now.

Dirthamen twisted free from the loose hold Solas had on him. He turned and limped off, leaving Solas standing alone in the woods. The anger drained from Dirthamen. The pain of nearly ninety centuries crashed down upon him. Warmth slid down his face. He lifted his shaking, free hand and touched his cheek. Through the hole in the glove, he felt a wet tear.

He was crying.

Dirthamen stopped and collapsed, breathing ragged through crushing pain and cold. The tears flowed with ease, pattering down to the ground at his knees. His hand clutched to the stone beside him, body shaking.

" _Ma abelas uth_ ," he whispered. "My sorrow is eternal." Nimwen was pulling and pulling at wounds he hadn't wanted reopened. He couldn't endure it.

More tears stung cold skin.

"Just stop it, Lady Nimwen," he whispered. " _Ma abelas uth_." He clutched his arms and held to himself. His mind buckling under the pain and weight of loss and hopelessness which bore down upon him. " _Ma abelas uth_." The phrase was his lifeline.

" _And it will always grip you_ ," Fear's voice echoed through Dirthamen's mind. " _You will never die, Dirthamen._ " The soft sound of wings followed.

Dirthamen looked towards the sky. Through a gaze blurred by tears, he saw two ravens circling high overhead: one black, one white. Fear and Deceit were ever watching him, ever keeping him locked in life.

Dirthamen closed his eyes and felt as a fresh wave of tears flowed down his face. He slid so his back was pressed to the rock and buried his face his hands. His pain was eternal.

* * *

 _eth'enansal_ \- Safe Blessing (Dalish blanket made by the woman for her spouse before the bonding)  
 _vallem venavis._ \- I bid you stop.  
 _Ma abelas uth_ \- My sorrow is eternal


	6. Chapter 6

Milliel hummed to herself. Morning patrols were a favorite of hers. No worrying over incompetent partners; no chasing halla. She could simply circle the forest around the camp checking for bandits and other trouble. It was also the one time when she could sing.

 _Elgar'nan set my heart alight,  
_ _Mythal protect the just and right.  
_ _Ghilan'nain keep my halla strong,  
_ _Sylaise bless me with warm hearths and song._

 _Dirthamen tell no secret I keep.  
_ _Falon'Din guide the dead to their sleep.  
_ _June give me hands with truest skill.  
_ _Andruil guide the hunt over stream and hill._

 _And Fen'Harel, trickster wolf,  
_ _Deceiver and traitor so,  
_ _Stay in the dark,  
_ _in shadows stark.  
_

 _Never catch my scent  
_ _Catch my scent..._

Her voice faded away with only the birds as witnesses. She would never let the others hear her sing. She had a voice like a drunken beaver, at least that's what she told herself. So she saved it for times like these, when it was just her and the forest.

She shivered, her breath pluming from her lips as she pulled her cloak tighter around her. She hated the cold, hated bundling up for that matter. She would have ventured out in her usual attire just to spite the frigid air, but she had the unfortunate luck of running into her mother before she left, who was adamant about her taking a cloak.

"Why couldn't we be in Antiva?" Milliel grumbled. She'd never been to Antiva, but she'd heard enough to know it was probably better than here. "Aaand now it's snowing," she sighed when she felt the snowflakes on her face. By the time she returned, her hair would be covered in it, she was certain, and she would have to deal with wet hair until noon.

As she crunched the frost beneath her even harder, a noise caught her attention. She perked up, listening. She thought she had heard something. Slowly she advanced in the direction she believed it came from. Unsure what it was, she had her hand on her bow. She stopped when it came again. It sounded like panting.

She took a risk. "Hello?" She listened for a response.

The sound of strained breaths stopped. She heard a quiet. " _Fenedhis_." Moments before the soft sound of someone falling to the ground followed.

"Who's there?" She got closer. The huntresses' body tensed for a potential confrontation. She entered the small thicket, searching for signs.

The thicket surrounded a large boulder. Even where Milliel stood she could make out an overhang, carved out some centuries ago by an ancient river. A familiar figure was huddle under the boulder out of the cold wind and snow.

His face was turned away from Milliel, but she knew by the dark, tattered rags it was Shartan. " _Ir abelas_ ," he whispered, voice tight with a faintness of breath and pain. "I didn't mean to disturb your rounds."

"What happened?" She crouched beside him. "Are you all right, are you hurt?"

"I am fine," he stated and shifted so she still couldn't see his face. "You should return to your rounds."

"My rounds can wait." To spare her knees, Milliel sat down beside Shartan. "Now, tell me, what you're doing out here, and I want to see your face."

Shartan took a deep breath and looked towards her. Even through the gloom she could see his eyes were red from tears, making the dark purple of his eyes pop. He gave a bitter chuckle and looked at the ground. "I shouldn't be seen like this," he muttered. "Not by one of the People."

"Creators." Milliel was even more concerned. "What happened, Shartan?" She put her hands on his shoulders, green eyes locked on purple. "Please don't lie. I want to help, I don't like seeing you upset."

He let out a long, thin, pained breath, eyes still locked on the ground. "I did as the Keeper asked and told Solas of tradition. He and I talked. As be expected, it went poorly. Centuries of bitter relationship between us doesn't vanish over night or because someone wants it to. There is too much pain and rage there," he whispered and shook his head. "You don't need to hear this."

"Don't give me that." Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You're upset, and for goodness sake I'll not let you wallow alone in this wretched snow."

"I am fine. All pain passes." He moved away from her, but didn't make to stand. "I would rather not be seen like this. I'm supposed to be the one the People to turn to, not the other way around."

"We are your people too, Shartan, and that means letting us help _you_ from time to time." To prove her point, she pulled him into a full-blown hug this time. "And don't give me that _'I'm fine_ ,' speech, you're not fine." Milliel could actually feel herself getting emotional. She quelled it, Shartan was the one who needed comforting. "I don't take people's word at face value when the truth's right in front of me. So, let me help you, please. Pain passes better with people to help you through it."

It was a lesson she knew all too well. Where would she and her mother have been the night they ran away? The Dalish saved their lives, and in turn helped Milliel understand what love and family truly meant. Now, it was her turn to do the same.

"Just talk if it makes you feel better. Or don't talk. I'll steal you some wine if that's what you want. Regardless, I'm not going anywhere, so you'd better get used to it, you stubborn onion."

At this he cocked an eyebrow. "Onion? I do believe you're the first to call me such." He took a deep breath and looked back at the ground. "I know love and family, Lady Milliel. I've raised many children over the centuries and I loved each in turn as if they were my blood children."

Milliel froze. Partially because she realized she'd called him onion aloud, and partially for the fact he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. "H-how did you…?"

"It was in the way you were looking at me," he stated. "The pain, pity, and determination in your eyes." He shook his head. "You don't want to do this, Lady Milliel. The closer you get, the more I will hurt you."

"See, it's that talk that makes people want to dig deeper," the redhead retorted. "And I can handle myself, thank you very much." She shivered as a slight breeze passed over her. "Mythal's mercy, why does snow exist?" she grumbled.

"Snow forms when the temperature drops below freezing. Water ends up frozen as it sticks together and falls as ice crystals. The further they fall, more ice clings together until you have the unique snowflakes," Shartan answered in almost dull tones.

Milliel leaned back to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. "How do you even know that?" She shivered again and took the ends of her cloak. "Stupid snow, stupid winter, stupid-huh?" Her gripping stopped when she felt something solid beneath her hand. "What is that?" She opened her cloak to see what it was. "W-what-mum?" Milliel pulled out a full wineskin, staring at it in disbelief. " _Why_ does she have this?" She opened it and sure enough, it was wine. "Who leaves an entire skin of wine in their cloak?"

"Your mother, I would presume by the way you're speaking." Shartan pulled out a blanket from his bag and placed it over Milliel's shoulders. It was thin and warn, fine stitching over it where the blanket had been patched. "If you're going to stay you might as well be warm. I would offer to get a small fire going but, alias, I fear there is no dry wood apart from the toys I have made."

"No need, we have warmth right here," Milliel said, taking a swig of the wine. "'s what she gets for leaving it," she grinned mischievously. "Here." She pressed it into Shartan's hands. "Have some."

Shartan hesitated before he sighed and took a deep swig of the wine. He smiled. "A bitter red," it almost sounded as if his sorrow had vanished a little. "The last wine Deshanna gave me was white and made from sweet grapes." He took another long drink before passing it back to Milliel. "My lady?" he asked with a slight smile.

"I'd better keep wine on me all the time, since it apparently is your sadness cure," she smirked, taking an even bigger sip. The wine burned pleasantly down her throat. She wasn't big on wine, but she preferred this to others. She knew what wine Shartan spoke of. It was way too sweet.

Shartan chuckled as he took the skin she passed back to him. "Also not a fan of the sweet stuff?" He took a drink and closed his eyes as if savoring the taste before passing it back.

"They make my eye twitch," she explained. She drank again and gave it back. "One time we traded with some _shems_ and they gave us this sweet stuff, what was it, chockolame? It was brown, I think. I had one bite and I thought my eye was going to pop out!" She pointed to her right eye. "It's always this one, see? I don't know why, it's looks just like my other eye, at least I think so. You see anything?"

"Your body can't handle a lot of sugar then," he stated before he took another sip of the wine. "I wouldn't advise eating too much chocolate." He gazed at the bushes several feet from them. His eyes dull. He held up the wineskin to her.

"Why thank you, my good sir," she smirked in a haughty voice. She snatched the wine and took another gulp. "So, I told you something 'bout me. Let's talk you."

He sighed. "My parents were born into slavery," he started, "the same as me. Solas had an older twin brother who took a woman as his mate. Solas and his brother fought over her all the time. In the end, his brother won her heart, but she always held a small flame for Solas as well. They were more than just best friends. For as long as I can remember the both of them would hide their feelings. My twin was the son of Solas's brother while I was the bastard son of Solas and the same woman who was officially mated to his brother.

"She always knew I was Solas's son and kept it from myself, my brother, Solas, and the man I grew up believing was my father. When the experiments started, Solas took _her_ at her word she was going to stop them. Everytime he went to her about it and, thus, I ended up with seven years worth experiments done on me. He always believed her." Shartan shook his head. Another tear slid down his face and he brushed it away. "Let's just say, I didn't have a happy childhood. That Solas let me down as both a father figure and uncle too many times. And my so called mother never loved me or dared to show any affection towards me out of fear her secret would be revealed."

When Milliel passed back the wineskin he took the longest drink yet from it before passing it back. The skin felt as if it had less than half remaining now.

Milliel was lost for words. What do you say to something like that? She took a drink, Shartan's words ringing in her head. How could somebody be so cruel to a child? Milliel had vague memories of her father before he died, none of them bad, and she could never imagine her mother doing something like that. The wineskin fell from her lips, and she turned to Shartan. She wracked her mind for something proper to say.

Whether fueled by the alcohal or her own knee-jerk nature, she stared right into his eyes and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Your mother's kinda a bitch."

Shartan chuckled. "You needn't tell me." He looked towards the snow falling just outside their little shelter. It was coming down harder now. "One good thing came out of my childhood though. I vowed to never be the kind of parent they were to me. I will always raise my children with love and warmth no matter if they're blood related to me or not. They're my children and that's all that matters."

"Shit straight." Milliel's eyes widened. "No wait, I meant damn straight." By now both of them were well beyond just tipsy. Milliel could feel her grip on herself loosening. "But, still, that's a good mindset. All kids need good parents. Don't have to be blood for love. Gonna teach my kids that. If I have them." She meant for that last part to be under her breath, but it came out normal volume.

She felt his hand on her face, warm despite the cold around them. "You will make a wonderful mother," Shartan whispered, face close to hers. His eyes were locked on hers, intent and filled with a mixture of longing and wisdom. "You're so beautiful." His lips greeted hers in a kiss which was gentle, sweet, and filled with pain and love all at once. The kiss was short, but enough to leave one breathless.

She blinked. "Onion taste like wine?"

The question didn't seem to phase him. He whispered to her in elvish, so soft and sweet it sounded almost like music twisting around her. His hand ran down her shoulder in a gentle caress, almost asking for permission. His lips touched her neck. Between kisses, he continued to whisper to her in elvish.

Her face felt hot, and not all of it was due to wine. "I dunno what you're sayin'," she giggled. Her fingers found his hair, weaving through the black locks. "But I like it." Her mind was swimming, but she felt content. More than content really. She felt happy. "Hey, c'mere." She took his face and pressed her lips to his. She could feel the unevenness of his skin on the left side.

Shartan's fingers were gentle as he pulled them to the cold ground. Somehow the blanket ended up under her. " _Theneras emma eth uth, lath_."

"Okay," she giggled. Her hand brushed the scarred skin of his neck. She should have been disturbed, but it felt fascinating beneath her touch. She looked up with shiny eyes. "Sh-Shatan, guessssss what?" she whispered.

His hands continued moving down her and he leaned closer.

"This's waaay better than patrols," she murmured before meeting his lips again.

He smiled and returned the kiss with the fullness of passion.

*~ The Next Morning ~*

Warmth surrounded Milliel from all sides. All too soon cold slammed into her back as she felt someone pull away from her.

" _Fenedhis_." a voice muttered.

"What?" she mumbled eyes still closed. Her warmth was gone, and she wanted it back. "Come back, it's cold."

She could hear someone moving and soft elvhen curses of pain following the sound of a person collapsing. "-leg," the word came to her. She then felt someone replace a blanket over her, the hands never touched her, only the blanket.

Despite the warmth returning, she was now too confused to return to sleep. She forced her eyes open and sat up. "What's going on?"

She blinked and suddenly she was looking at a very distressed Shartan. Before she could even ask what was wrong, she sensed something wrong. That's when she realized she couldn't feel her hunting gear on her.

"H-huh?" She looked down and saw her bare skin. She squeaked, fumbling for the blanket to cover herself. She ended up crossing her arms over her breasts. "I-I-I…" Her face was on fire. She'd never been naked in front of another person. Well, aside from bathing, and that hardly counted. "W-why am, wait, why am I-no, wait, why aren't _you_ naked?!" she demanded. "I don't want to be the only one embarrassed right now."

Shartan wasn't looking in her direction but his ears were bright red. "I was," he muttered. " _Ir abelas_." He grabbed his cane and bag. The next moment he was gone.

"The fuck?!" Milliel squawked. She ran outside, blanket wrapped around her. "Shartan?!" Her eyes scanned the thicket, but there was no sign of him. Her bare feet stung from the cold snow, and she quickly retreated back inside. As she sat down, she winced. "What?" She was sore, around-

Her eyes widened. "No way." She peered inside the blanket. Her blood ran cold. "Oh, Creators." That's it. No wine, not ever. Wine is gone forever.

She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging the blanket close. "I-I, we…" And then he left.

A lump settled in her throat, and no matter how much she swallowed it wouldn't go away. The weight of what happened was settling over her like snow on a tree branch.

"Fuck the snow!" she snapped, her eyes growing wet.

She collected her clothes all the while pushing back the urge to let loose her tears. Her first time, and she couldn't remember it. Her first time and the man up and left without a word. But, he had said something though, didn't he?

" _Ir abelas_ ," she repeated as she put on her top.

He was sorry, no doubt he regretted it. Why wouldn't he? She wasn't the first choice, she was never anyone's first choice. Even Nimwen found love before she did. Nimwen! Of course she'd have to get a man drunk to bed her. There wasn't even a bed!

"Damn it."

Tears slipped down her cheeks by the time she had her cloak on. She pulled herself to her feet, the ache between her legs the only thing that remained of her first time. At least some remembrance would be nice. She couldn't even get that?

"Fuck this snow!" Milliel yelled as she kicked the snow out of her way. She trudged all the way back to camp stomping and kicking the snow in her path leaving a violent trail behind her. As she neared camp, her frustration fizzled into an overwhelming sense of sadness. This couldn't be fixed with fighting winter. She needed to talk, or she'd explode.

She didn't even bother to knock before she whipped open the door to the _aravel_.

Nimwen jumped. "Solas, you can't see-" The mage paused upon seeing the huntress. "Milliel, what's wrong?"

The redhead burst into tears. " _Lethallan!_ " She threw herself at her friend, crying into her shoulder.

"Milly, what's wrong?" Nimwen asked, wrapping her arms around the older woman.

"I-I…" Her tongue felt swollen and her words stuck in her throat like honey.

A cold hand stroked her curls, while a metal one rubbed her back. "Please, Milly, what happened? You're scaring me."

Milliel sniffed loudly. "I had drunk sex with your step-son!"

"You did what?!"

Normally Milliel would have guffawed at the high-pitched screech Nimwen made. Here, it at least helped slow her crying. "I didn't mean to. I-I was on patrol, and I found him and he was crying, and we had wine, and he told me what a bitch his mom was, and that he hated sweet grape wine, and I hate sweet grape wine too it makes my eye twitch and then we were laughing, and then I think we kissed, and-"

"Milly, Milly, slow down," Nimwen urged. "Calm down, _lethallan_ , and tell me what happened, slowly this time."

The huntress hiccuped, and peeled herself off of Nimwen's shoulder. "We got drunk," she said, wiping her face. "Then, I woke up and I was naked and he looked like he wanted to _die_. I tried to ask what was going on, but he just left. _Left!"_ Milliel felt more tears coming, but quick soothing from Nimwen helped stave off another tidal wave. "I don't understand, what did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," Nimwen assured her. "Milliel, you did nothing wrong. Mahvir is the one who left."

"But _why_?" Milliel sniffled. She didn't even bother to correct Nimwen and say that his real name was Shartan, even if it meant being able to correct "know-it-all-Nimwen." "Why would he leave?"

"He was probably just as confused as you are," Nimwen explained. "Mahvir, he's, well, he hasn't been… close to someone in a long time, I believe. I think he may have overreacted."

"He said he was sorry, _ir abelas_." Milliel wiped at her nose. "He regrets it, doesn't he? He regrets getting trashed and getting a mess like me."

"Milly, that's not true-"

"I don't even remember it!" The redhead's lip quivered. "My first time and I don't even know what happened. What if I was horrible?!"

"Milly, don't say that, and all virgins are horrible-wait, no, I didn't-"

Too late, the huntress was in tears again. "I'm terrible at sex! I'm terrible and I don't even know what to do to improve."

"Milliel!" Nimwen shook the redhead until she was silent. "Calm. Down. You being hysterical won't fix anything."

Milliel didn't trust her voice, so instead she nodded.

Nimwen let out a sigh. "Good. Now, this all is something that will be mended once you and Mahvir sit down and talk, which you two are going to do."

Milliel's eyes widened. "But what if he-"

"Oh, he's _going_ to talk." There was an almost dangerous tone to her voice. "I've had enough of all these loose threads, and, by the Creators, I am going to make the men in this family talk or, so help me, they are getting their asses kicked."

Milliel managed a snort. "You're going to kick Shartan's ass?"

" _Thoroughly_."

Milliel mustered up a laugh. "You are such a mom, _lethallan_ , what happened?"

Now, Nimwen was laughing too. "I can't help it. Somebody has to take charge around here."

Milliel smiled. Suddenly the weight felt lighter, like the snow was melting off of her. "So, what now?"

"Right now, _you_ are going to stay here and make sure nobody sees that," Nimwen said, pointing to her unfinished _eth'enansal_. "As for _me_ ," she growled, "I am going to find my son and drag him back by his ear."

A soft knock sounded. "Lady Nimwen, can you please hide the _eth'enansal_? I wish to speak with Lady Milliel." It was Shartan.

Milliel felt herself stiffen.

"Hmm, looks like there shall be no ear pulling."

The joke did nothing to help her nerves.

"Hold on." Nimwen grabbed the _eth'enansal_ and carefully tucked it away beneath one of the beds in the _aravel_. "You may come in." Nimwen turned to Milliel, taking one of her hands. "It'll be fine, just talk," she whispered, giving Milliel's hand a comforting squeeze.

The door opened and Shartan awkwardly pulled himself into the _aravel_. He looked at Nimwen. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, Lady Nimwen, but what I have to say is for Lady Milliel's ears only."

"Of course," Nimwen nodded. "I'll be by the campfire if you need me," she said to both of them.

Milliel felt her confidence leave with Nimwen as the mage stepped out of the _aravel_. The sound of the door shutting was like thunder in her ears.

Shartan didn't move any closer. He had moved to let Nimwen pass him in the small space, but he remained standing, leaning heavily on his cane. "First, you did nothing wrong," he started, eyes soft as he looked at her. "When I apologized this morning, it had everything to do with what I did, not you. Even drunk, and no matter how beautiful you are, I shouldn't have slept with you."

"You th-think I'm beautiful?" Those words made her cheeks turn pink. "So, you mean… I look okay without wine?"

Shartan nodded. "You are extremely beautiful, but that doesn't take back what I did or how I reacted this morning. I know it won't take back what happened between us and it will never help, but I am so sorry for all of it. You deserve someone," he trailed off and took a deep breath. He limped over and sat down on the bed across from her. "Listen, while we can't take back what happened, I can still make this right. You can still have a future with the man you really love."

"'Man I really love?'" Who was that? Milliel certainly didn't know. Granted, she had had her eyes on many of the boys in the clan, but that was just appreciation from afar. None of them had ever really sparked anything in her. "Who are you talking about?"

"You know who in your heart." Shartan took a deep breath and lifted his hand. "But for you to have that happy future, I need you to make a decision now before I can't reverse what I've done. I can stop you from becoming pregnant."

Milliel's eyes widened. "… come again?"

Shartan took a deep breath and ran his hands through his tangled hair. "The experiments done on me as a child gave me the ability to see the future," he explained. "You will be pregnant if you don't let me act today. If you don't, then I will do everything in my power to make certain you're taken care of. I will go to Deshanna and go through tradition, but," - he looked at her, eyes pained - "I am not the one you love. And once we're bonded we can't take it back, as you well know." He took a deep breath.

Milliel's mind was racing. Pregnant? Her? She was pregnant? _'No way, no way.'_ She was pregnant? By Shartan, and he would _bond_ with her? It was so much, she wasn't sure she could process it all. He would bond with her, Shartan, bond with _her_. He also said he'd reverse what he did. Reverse the baby.

"You can't do that!" She jumped up and grasped him by the shoulders. "No, no, that's not right, it's a baby! You can't-"

By now she was so close to him she could smell his breath. It smelled like wine. _"Onion taste like wine?"_ She gasped as the memory hit her. Spiderwebs of thought filtered through her head as pieces of yesterday morning came back to her. She couldn't remember much; pleasant burn, laughter, warmth, but most of all…

"Happy." She looked into his eyes. "You… make me happy." The moment she said it she realized it was true. "You're quiet, but you tell the best stories. You're really smart and can be funny when you want to. You make toys and don't want pay. You have so many layers, I swear I could never find all of them, not even," she paused, "not even if I gave you all the wine in the world." She looked down, feeling suddenly bashful. "I've… never been in love," she admitted. "I don't know who you think I'm in love with, but I'm telling you now he's not the one. I like looking, but I've never really liked, anything else?" Her face felt as red as her hair. "I mean, you don't look like _any_ of the guys I usually look at, but you are more interesting than all of them! Except your hair. No, wait, that came out wrong! You have hair like them. Dark hair. I like dark hair, that's what I meant." Milliel needed to stop before she made an even bigger fool of herself. She looked up at him, forcing herself to smile. "Say something?" She cringed.

His eyes were sad as he looked at her; yet, his hand was soft when he touched her face. "If you're certain this is the future you want, you need to know something." He took a deep breath. "I am physically frail and have extremely bad lungs. After a child gets to a certain age, I can't lift them. I will never be able to lift you or hunt large game. Perhaps kill it if the circumstances are right, but never carry it back to camp through conventional means. _Ir abelas_ ," he whispered.

"I'm a brute," Milliel blurted out. "I-I mean I'm strong, really strong. I break things by accident. I try to hide because I didn't want people to think I was manly. But if you're frail and I'm too strong, maybe the baby will meet in the middle?" she gave a small smile. "And I can hunt, that's my job. You're so much smarter, so any problem I can't punch or shoot, you can use your mind to solve! Right?"

He chuckled. "Right." He then let out a long breath. "Well, telling Deshanna will be fun," he sounded sarcastic. "I will go to her, you needn't get caught in the crossfire."

"No, I'm coming," Milliel insisted. "We're in this together, so let's tell her together."

"We're leaving out the fact you will be pregnant," he warned her.

"Creators, yes, we're not telling her," Milliel laughed. "I would like to live another day, thank you very much."

He stood and bowed to her. "If you wouldn't mind heading down first. I fear the steps are going to take me a while." He gave her a soft smile and tapped his bad leg with his cane.

"I can help you," Milliel said. "I wasn't kidding when I said I was strong."

"Oh, I believe you. I can get down the steps just fine. It will just take a while. I don't much fancy being carried again."

"Oh, right, _ir abelas_." _'Maybe I shouldn't have offered? Maybe men don't want to be carried.'_ "Well, then, I'll just get out of the way." She made for the door. She had her hand on the knob when she looked over her shoulder. "Shartan?"

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted you to know, all this… I don't regret it." She gave a small smile. "At all."

His eyes softened. " _Ma serannas_. I hope I can make you happy."

She laughed. "I told you already that you do, you silly onion."

Pink appeared in his face at the name. He coughed. "I believe Nimwen is with the keeper right now," he stated. "And we have kept her from her _aravel_ long enough."

"Right, I'll wait outside." The winter air hit her the moment she stepped outside. For once though, she didn't mind. The sharp, crisp feeling of it against her skin made her feel alive, a reaffirmation that what happened this day _was_ real. She let out a sigh, and watched her breath rise up like a billow of clouds. She shifted her weight, feeling the squeak of packed snow beneath her feet. She looked down, and toed some of the snow. She smiled.

The sound of Shartan stumbling came from behind her. He muttered something in elvish before he limped up to her. "I knew there was a reason I didn't sleep in those things," he grumbled.

"Maybe you should sleep in one more, get acquainted with the layout," Milliel teased.

He gave her a small smile before he started off. The deep snow had been packed and was slick in some places. He move slower than she had seen before. He was digging the cane into the packed snow and ice with each step before carefully limping forward for another. The pace was almost agonizingly slow.

"Have you thought of having someone look at your leg?" Milliel asked. "What about Nimwen? She's a wonderful healer."

"Deshanna already has," Shartan explained. "There was damage to it long before now and the break only worsened the leg. She's done all she can to heal the bone and many keepers before her tried to restore full function to my leg after I was burned."

" _Ir abelas_ ," Milliel said. "It must be very frustrating to not be able to move like you want to."

At this Shartan chuckled. "I've never been much for running as it is." His pace improved as they neared the fire. The snow had melted, leaving the ground wet and muddy.

This reminded her how slow Faen and Sinderon had been going that day they chased the halla, the day she met Shartan. It had been torture and she just wanted them to hurry up so she could get going quicker. Now, as she walked beside Shartan, matching his sluggish pace, she strangely had no desire to run ahead.

"Ah, good afternoon, Keeper Deshanna," Shartan greeted Deshanna as the two of them stopped before the keeper and Nimwen.

Deshanna turned and cocked an eyebrow at them. "Where were you two for the past day?" she asked.

Shartan smiled at the keeper. "Come now, Deshanna, you needn't worry so."

The keeper shook her head and sighed. "I was worried when one of my hunters didn't return to camp. Come to find out she had been with you. Now, you two are before me, what am I to think?"

"Only the best, I would hope," Shartan teased the keeper.

"Um…" Milliel opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a squeak. How was she supposed to bring this up? Was _she_ suppose to bring this up, or Shartan? How would they do this without giving away that she was pregnant? _That_ part Milliel was still in a state of shock over. She was sure in a day or two it would hit her like a stampeding halla and that fact she had a _baby_ in her would settle in. For now though… "I, uh." She looked to Shartan for support.

Shartan placed his hand over his heart, expression now serious as he gave the keeper a slight bow. "I would like to take Milliel as my bonded. I would be honored for your blessing, Keeper Deshanna, and permission to join the clan."

"What?!" Both the keeper and Nimwen said in unison.

"Mahvir, Milly, you want to be bonded?" Nimwen asked.

"Uh-huh." Milliel nodded. Her knees felt like pudding. She'd hunted wolves, punched a bear, and rode an angry druffalo on a dare, and yet announcing her bonding was what made her legs want to give out.

For a long moment, Deshanna regarded the two of them. Then she smiled and drew Shartan into a tight embrace. "About time!"

"Deshanna," Shartan gasped as the sound of several bones popping came to Milliel.

"I've been wondering how long it would take for you to finally see a woman that caught your eye. Who was that last woman? Andraste?" She released him, grinning.

Shartan's entire face turned bright red. "That-that's not," he stuttered. He coughed. "Am I to take that as getting your blessing?"

"At least now you don't have an excuse to not sleep in an _aravel_."

"That isn't a yes!"

"Yes, of course you have my blessing." Deshanna grinned at him.

Milliel felt her face light up. " _Ma serannas,_ Keeper." Feeling bold, she took Shartan's hand in hers. "This means a lot to us." _Us._ Just saying it made her feel elated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nimwen standing with her mouth agape. " _Lethallan_?"

Nimwen pointed at them. "You two," she began. "You're being bonded?"

"Is that a problem?" Milliel felt a pit in her gut. What if Nimwen was against it? Milliel purposefully never went after Sinderon because he was her brother. Now, she was being bonded to her _son_.

"No, no, it's not that. Just," - Nimwen ran a hand through her hair - "I was not expecting this."

"But you're fine with it, right?" Milliel asked.

Nimwen sighed. "I just want you two to be happy." She smiled gently. "If you two want to be bonded, who am I to stop you?"

While Milliel and Nimwen had been talking Deshanna had pulled Shartan aside. "I am not catching a rabbit!" Shartan snapped.

"You can't carry anything heavier back to camp."

"No rabbit."

"Rabbit." Deshanna poked him in the stomach.

Shartan scowled.

"You know I'm right."

"It's not about being right, it's about what will be the best for her and the clan."

"Rabbit."

"No."

"What are you two going on about?" Nimwen asked them.

"He's gotten it into his thick head, he can drag large game down with that knife of his and carry it back to camp." Deshanna lifted one eyebrow at Shartan. "No one will judge you for bringing back a rabbit or a nug."

"You really want Lorien to hate me on that nug bit, don't you? And I am not just bringing back a rabbit. And, no, I am not trying that toy bow."

"You might be able to pull back the string."

Shartan's scowl deepened. "I can't and-"

"Now, you're being a stubborn old fool."

"Takes one to know one," he teased.

She poked him again. "Rabbit, _falon_. You don't have anything to prove."

"I have-"

"Rabbit!"

"Do whatever you think is right, Shartan," said Milliel. "Just don't hurt yourself, all right? You're more important than a pelt."

" _Ma serannas_ , Milliel, but a rabbit pelt." He looked from Milliel to Deshanna. "You know in the ancient days I would have been placed on a pike for bringing back only a rabbit."

"It's a good thing we've moved passed those days then. So, we're agreed, rabbit?" Deshanna asked with a sly smile.

Shartan huffed. "No, we're not agreed." He turned and limped off. Then, he paused. "I am going hunting," he stated.

Deshanna scowled. "You've not eaten-"

Shartan was gone.

"Creators, I hate it when he does that," Deshanna growled.

"And he hasn't eaten either," Nimwen glared, arms crossed. "I swear there are some days where I just want to force feed him." She turned to Milliel. "I hope you know what you're getting into."

' _I really don't,'_ Milliel realized. "Don't worry, it's going to be fine. It will certainly be interesting." _'Keep peeling back those layers, let him show more of who he is. Peel back the layers.'_ That is, after all, what one does with an onion.

The sound of someone approaching came. " _Da'vhenan_ , I do not want to eat snow." Solas appeared beside them, holding Lori who was trying to force feed him snow.

The toddler giggled. "It good!" she insisted, trying again to get Solas to eat the fistful of snow.

Solas blocked the toddler's hand with his. "I know what it tastes like, _da'vhenan_." He turned to Nimwen. " _Ir abelas_ , she wanted to finish the snowman before I left." He moved just in time to avoid getting snow his mouth. Instead it ended up all over his face.

"Solas, there's some news you should hear," Nimwen said.

Solas cocked an eyebrow as he wiped the snow from his cheek. "Something to do with," - he hesitated - "Mahvir?" He looked at Lori. "Please, _da'vhenan_ , I do not want to eat snow."

Lorien pouted. "Fine, I eat." She shoved the remaining snow into her mouth and stuck her tongue out at Solas.

"It is news about Mahvir, wonderful news." Nimwen smiled. "He is going to be bonded!"

"Ah." Solas set Lori down on the ground and brushed snow from his robes and the fur on his shoulder. "He's an adult, _vhenan_." He kept trying to get the frozen clumps from the fur.

Nimwen gaped at Solas. "' _He's an adult.'_ Our son is being bonded and _that's_ how you respond?!"

Solas sighed.

Deshanna was staring at them. "You're his father?" the keeper asked. "Let me get this straight, you're _Shartan's_ father? And are partnering with Nimwen?"

Milliel stood silent, unsure what to say. She wanted to step up, to say something on Shartan's behalf, though quite honestly she found Solas to be rather intimidating sometimes. _'And he shall be my father-through-bonding,'_ she thought nervously.

"Shartan?" Solas cocked an eyebrow. "Next time I speak with him, and it's not an argument, he's explaining what's happened these past centuries." Solas shook his head. " _Vhenan_ , I am happy for him in my own way." He touched Nimwen's shoulder. "I will return by sunset."

"Where are you going?" Nimwen asked.

"You wanted me to hunt today, remember?" Solas frowned. "You woke me early so I could spend the morning with Lorien," he explained to her. Then sighed and rubbed his temple. "You wanted the _aravel_ free today."

"Yes, yes, yes, I remember now," Nimwen replied curtly. " _Ir abelas_ , it's just the bonding, now another bonding, keeping track of Lori, making the _eth'enansal_ , the baby, I've got my hands full."

Milliel could see the tenseness in her friend's frame, and wondered how much time she'd had to relax since their arrival.

Nimwen smiled. "But, it's fine. It's fine. I've juggled nations and… fought darkspawn-magister gods. I've got this."

Milliel couldn't help but feel Nimwen's smile was strained.

"Speaking of which, I must get back to work. Lori, would you like to watch _mamae_ while I work?"

"Okay." Lori clapped.

"Good, just don't touch anything." Nimwen scooped up Lori. "I had best get going. Best of luck on your hunt, _vhenan_ ," Nimwen said to Solas, giving him a quick kiss before she took off with Lori.

Solas opened his mouth as if to say something to Nimwen but she was gone before he could. He muttered something in elvish and rubbed his temple. There was hint of worry on his face. "I suppose," - he hesitated again - "Mahvir is out hunting?" he asked, turning to the keeper.

"He is. Hopefully a rabbit."

At this Solas cocked an eyebrow. "I assure you, Keeper, if it's him, he'll bring back a ram just to prove he can."

A pang of worry struck Milliel. "You don't think he'd risk that, would he, Keeper?" Milliel asked. "I don't want him to get hurt because of me."

Solas regarded Milliel. His gaze was sharp, then a slight softness appeared in his gaze. "I wouldn't worry, he's been capable of taking care of himself, even if he didn't know it, since he was five." Solas bowed to the keeper. " _Dareth shiral_ , Keeper, _da'len_." He nodded to Milliel. He turned and strode off, hands behind his back. His stance almost noble.

"I'm not too certain I like that man," the keeper muttered. "And I most certainly do not see a family connection between him and Shartan."

"They have some issues," Milliel said quietly. She remembered what Shartan told her of his childhood. "They have a lot of work to do in order to resolve them. I pray they can, Keeper. Family shouldn't fight like that, and I just know it's putting a strain on Nimwen." Her heart went out to her friend. It couldn't be easy, caught between your love and your son.

"Creators only know what she's been through." Deshanna turned to Milliel. "You are now placing yourself into the crosshairs of two very old men, _da'len_. Mahvir is a good man and loyal. Solas," - her gaze flickered to where Solas had vanished - "is an extremely powerful mage and dreamer. He's character reflects that." She shook her head. " _Ir abelas_ , my judgement of him was affected when I learned he had left Nimwen while she was with child."

"I know." Milliel still couldn't believe that happened to Nimwen, or that she'd taken him back. Either they had a love stronger than any Milliel knew of, or Nimwen's forgiveness stretched further than the huntress thought it could. "I can only imagine what Sinderon still thinks of him."

"When they actually met, I don't think I want to be in camp," Deshanna stated then smiled at Milliel. "But we have other matters to discuss, happier ones. Especially given the news you two brought."

Milliel grinned. "Indeed. Bonding. I always dreamed of what it would be like. It feels, different, but not in a bad way."

Deshanna's eyes sparkled then her smile fell a little. "Milliel, I am going to warn you now, Shartan has a lot he keeps from the world. I hope you can be the light he needs and he can be yours."

"I hope for that too, Keeper," Milliel agreed. "And _ma serannas_ for your blessing. To be honest I was worried you would disapprove," Milliel admitted.

"I've been trying to convince him to settle down for years, Milliel. He's insistence on helping all the People has resulted in nearly losing his leg this last time. If you're the one to get him to finally move forward with his own life, then you have far more than my blessing, but that of our People's." Deshanna placed her hand on Milliel's shoulder. "Now, I do believe you have an _eth'enansal_ to work on. Perhaps you can keep Nimwen company."

"I will," Milliel nodded. She decided not to mention to Deshanna that she had made about eight _eth'enansal_ since the time she was eleven and kept them hidden under her bed. "I think Nimwen could use some attention."

* * *

 _Theneras emma eth uth, lath_ \- Dream with me safely forever, love.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** So the lovely song is actually written by Herenya. There is another song later in the story that I wrote. I find that adding songs, when done right, add more than they take from a story.

Also, finally something good happening to Dirthy. Long overdue, even if it had to be done in such a manner as this because he would never believe he deserves happiness. Silly Dirth. **)**


	7. Chapter 7

"Can you tell me who the Keeper of Secrets is, Lori?" asked Milliel.

The toddler put her finger to her mouth in thought. Her face lit up. "Dirt-arm man!"

"Dirthamen," the huntress corrected her.

"Dirt-arm man!"

Nimwen chuckled, weaving another band of color into the _eth'enansal_. "That's about as close as she gets."

"Well, at least it seems she knows the Creators' names, albeit her own versions," Milliel smiled. "You've taught her well."

"Of course I have," Nimwen scoffed. She, Milliel, and Lori sat within her _aravel_ , Milliel and Lori sitting together on Lori's bed, while Nimwen worked on the other bed.

"You've gotten so far on it," Milliel said, looking at the _eth'enansal_.

"Mahvir's ring was a great help," Nimwen explained. "It allowed me to get most of it done. Now, though, I want to finish it at my own speed. Makes it seem less like cheating that way."

"It's pretty," Lori said.

It was by far one of the best things Nimwen had created. The blanket was a dazzling array of colors woven from various fabric pieces, ribbons, yarns, all combined into an impressive tapestry. The main body of fabric was a soft green wool.

"I hope he likes it," Nimwen sighed, tightening a stitch.

Milliel scoffed. "Are you joking? He'll love it!"

"What about you? Are you going to get started on yours, or pick one from your stash?" Nimwen smiled when Milliel gasped.

"H-how did you know about that?"

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "I've known since we were thirteen, _lethallan_."

Milliel blushed.

"So, bonding," Nimwen began. "When I told you to talk it out with him, I didn't expect you two would just skip the courtship."

"It's complicated! We-"

"Calm down, Milly. I'm not judging you. I'm the _last_ person to do that," she said, rubbing her stomach. "Besides, if anyone's going to marry Mahvir, I'm glad it's you. At least I know you're trustworthy."

"Good to know," Milliel chuckled. "So, this means that I'll be your daughter-through-bonding, won't it?"

"It's about as weird as you your _vhenan_ and son being centuries older than you," Nimwen smirked.

Milliel sighed. "Do you think _shems_ have it this weird?"

" _Shems_ wish they could be this weird."

"I don't think they do."

" _Mamae_ , I hungry," Lorien sighed.

" _Da'len,_ you ate an hour ago," Nimwen said.

"I hungry 'gain."

Nimwen sighed. "You may have a small snack. Let me finish this stitch and we'll see what we can find."

"Can I ask you something, _lethallan_?" asked Milliel.

Nimwen looked up, still stitching. "Of course."

"Isn't it difficult, being with someone for the rest of your life?"

Nimwen raised a brow. "Shouldn't you have considered this before you became betrothed?"

"I'm considering it now!" Milliel sighed. " _Ir abelas_. You are more experienced in this than I am. What is it like with Solas?"

"Milliel, Solas and I are very different than you and Mahvir-"

"For once can you just answer the question?"

Nimwen let out a sigh. "Solas and I, we have been through much together. He is the one person who can bring me to my highest, or drag me to my lowest, and I suspect I do the same to him." Her fingers tugged at a loose piece of thread, making it taught. "We have our issues, but we work passed them, and we do it together. That's the key to it, _lethallan_. You have to accept that whatever you do, you have to do it together. You put them before yourself, consider their needs before your own, but you don't worry about it."

"How is that not worrying?" Milliel asked.

Nimwen smiled. "Because they shall consider your needs before their own." She pulled the thread through the fabric and finished the line of stitches. "At least, that's how it goes when it's going well."

"I see."

Nimwen placed the _eth'enansal_ on the bed and took her friend's hands. "Don't worry, things will be fine. You both need to get comfortable around each other, and that takes time."

There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Nimwen asked.

"Me."

"Uncle Sin!" Lori toddled to the door, jumping for the handle. "Come in and play!"

"Just hold on a minute." Nimwen hid the _eth'enansal_ beneath her bed and shooed Lori away from the door. "Sorry, I needed to hide my-" Her eyes widened, hand still on the door handle. "Brother?"

Sin's face was beet red as he looked away.

"What's going on-oh, sweet Creators!"

Behind Nimwen Milliel burst into laughter. "Sinderon, what did you do to your hair?!"

To call it a rat's nest would be an understatement. Half of his hair wasn't even in its braid anymore, and what was left looked like a badger had clawed it. What was most concerning, however, was the _arrow_ lodged in her brother's braid.

"I need help," he muttered quietly.

"Get in here," Nimwen sighed, ushering him in. He had to duck to enter the _aravel_ , and once inside he had to duck lest he bang his head on the ceiling.

Milliel was on the floor, holding her stomach as she laughed. "You look-you look like…" whatever she was going to say was drowned out by her laughs.

Somehow Sinderon's face grew redder, and the slight twitch in his brow let Nimwen know he was genuinely embarrassed.

"Calm down, Milliel."

"It looks like the wind gave him his arrow back after it beat him up!"

"If you're not going to help, leave," Nimwen pouted, trying not to laugh as well. Embarrassed or not, Sinderon still looked ridiculous.

"Oh, I'm not going to be helpful," Milliel chuckled as she picked herself off the floor. "I'll let you two have family time, and I need to to recover from-" she looked at Sinderon's hair again and snickered.

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Go, you menace."

"Don't chop his hair off again," Milliel said as she left the _aravel_.

The _aravel_ was quiet without the huntress' howling, and Nimwen could see her brother relax. "All right, while I fix this, you tell me how this happened," the mage said.

She sat on the edge of the bed and Sinderon sat on the ground in front of her. She picked up his braid and looked for a place to start.

Lori clambered into her uncle's lap. "Hiya, Uncle Sin!"

"Hello."

"Why you hair messy?"

"Yes, brother, why is it messy?" Nimwen smirked.

He sighed. "I got stuck."

"Where?" Nimwen wasn't even surprised. Ever since they were children, Sinderon was always getting trapped in places. She sensed he tended to underestimate his size, a factor that was also the reason it took him years to learn to duck before coming inside to avoid smacking his head on the _aravel_ entrance.

"Beaver den."

"Beav-beav," Lori clapped. "They cute, but no cute like Nummy," she told the hunter, pointing to the nug who was napping away in the corner of the _aravel_.

"Why were you even _near_ a beaver den?" Nimwen was trying to free the arrow from his hair, but somehow quite a few pieces of black hair were wound around the shaft.

"A… a duck had her foot stuck between some sticks," he muttered. "I helped, then I broke the top."

"How long were you in there?" Nimwen asked.

"A day."

Nimwen sputtered. "You were stuck in there for a whole day? How did you get out?"

"The Toymaker found me."

Nimwen stilled her hands. "Mahvir found you?"

"Mahvy a hero," Lori grinned. "He like you, _mamae!_ "

"I guess you're right, _da'len_." Though pulling someone from a beaver den and saving Thedas were hardly similar, Nimwen wasn't going to disagree. "And I should thank Mahvir when he gets home."

Sinderon hummed in agreement.

"Though, I still don't know how you got an arrow in here."

"I tried undoing my hair. The hair tie was stuck."

Nimwen lifted a brow. "And?"

"I tried an arrow."

"You used an arrow to cut out your hair tie?"

Sinderon nodded.

Nimwen sighed. "You exhaust me sometimes, _ma'adahl._ " She tried to unwrap the hair around the arrow, but it refused. "That's it, I'm just going to break this thing in half."

"Uncle Sin," Lori spoke up. " _Mamae_ let me see her make her blanket."

"I see."

"It real pretty, show him, _mamae_."

"I can't," Nimwen explained as she started to bend the arrow. "Daddy has to be the first man to see the _eth'enansal_ , and he can't until our bonding day."

Lori pouted. "But Uncle Sin need see."

"He'll see it, just not now." She scooted back, holding the end of Sinderon's braid, and put more pressure on the arrow. Soon she heard the satisfying _crack_ as the shaft snapped in two. "Here's one part done," she said, slipping the two ends free from his hair. "Now, let me take care of the rest of this. Lori, get me my comb?"

"Okay, _mamae_."

"Well, looks like your arrow did cut the tie," Nimwen smirked, pulling the broken string from the remains of the braid.

" _Ma serannas,_ sister."

"That's what I'm here for," she chuckled. Her fingers worked to separate some of the tangles in her brother's thick hair. She was able to make more progress once Lori handed her the wooden comb.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm well," Nimwen replied. Gingerly she picked at the ends of his hair, working her way upwards and trying to remain gentle.

"You're not tired?"

"All is well."

"You should take it easy."

"Why, because of the baby?" Nimwen asked. "There will be plenty of time for rest in the months to come. Right now, I'm enjoying being mobile."

" _Mamae_ gonna have baby," Lori said.

Nimwen couldn't see where she was from the bed. Coloring next to Nummy no doubt.

"I wanna girl."

"You can't choose," Nimwen reminded the girl. She heard Sinderon chuckle. "What about you? Excited about having a nephew or another niece?"

Sinderon hummed.

Nimwen smiled. She was glad to be able to see her brother's face in person when she told him she was with child. His letter expressing his happiness for her was wonderful, but seeing the way his eyes lit up and a genuine smile grace his stoic face was something she wouldn't forget.

"Has _he_ been attentive?"

No name was needed for Nimwen to know who he was talking about. "Solas has been nothing but supportive. If anything, he's been a bit protective of late. Can't imagine what he'll be like later in the pregnancy."

Sinderon grunted, and Nimwen regretted her choice of words. She didn't know what Solas would be like later, because he hadn't been there for the first pregnancy, a fact she knew Sinderon still held against him.

"I wish Solas would return so you two can meet," she said. She'd finally undone the rest of the braid, and was now combing out the knots. "Such a shame he had to start his hunt the day you finished yours."

"You gonna love daddy," Lori said to the hunter. "He best daddy ever."

Nimwen heard the cynical snort that came from her brother and she smacked his head. "Listen, you be nice to Solas, understand?"

"You ask a lot, _da'sulahn_."

Nimwen sighed. "We've had our rough patches, but all of that is behind us."

"He left-"

"But he's here now."

"He left you, alone and with-"

"Not in front of Lori," Nimwen whispered, lightly tugging a lock of his hair as a warning. She saw him wince and released his hair. "Promise me you'll _try_ to get along, or at least not get into a fistfight?" she asked. "There's already so much drama between him and Mahvir, I would like for at least _one_ of my family to not be at odds with him."

"He seems like a man who has no trouble in making enemies."

"But I don't want you to be one." She glided the comb through his hair, checking for any more tangles or knots. "Please, promise me you'll be civil, Sinderon. It would mean a lot to me."

Sinderon turned around, to face her. He looked strange with his hair down, since the sight was so rare. His hair was even longer unbraided, and it fell over half his face. "Do you love him?"

"More than I will ever be able to put into words," Nimwen responded. She pushed his hair out of his face, revealing his other eye tattooed cerulean with the markings of Sylaise. "And I love you too, which is why I want to see you to get along."

Sinderon stared at her, expression unreadable even to her. He bowed his head slightly. "I'll try."

" _Ma serannas_ ," Nimwen smiled. "Now, would you like for me to braid it again?"

"If you don't mind."

Nimwen snorted. "When have I ever minded?"

Sinderon returned to his original position and Nimwen went to work braiding it. "I'm pretty sure Lori inherited your hair," she informed him.

"Why?"

"It might not be black, and it's wavy, but I have never seen hair get so easily tangled aside from yours," Nimwen chuckled, deciding on a fishtail braid.

Sinderon chuckled. "Forgive me, _da'sulahn_."

"You're forgiven." Speaking of her daughter, however, the toddler had been quiet for a while. "Lori? What are you up to?" She heard shuffling from under the bed.

"Lookit, Uncle Sin!"

"Sin, close your eyes!" Nimwen squawked. She clapped her hand over his eyes just before Lori unrolled the _eth'enansal_ in front of him. "Look at _mamae's_ blankie!"

"Lorien Hylea Lavellan, put that down this instant," Nimwen ordered.

The toddler frowned. "But I wanted to show-"

"I told you before he can't see it." Nimwen looked down at Sinderon. "Keep them shut." She stood up and took the _eth'enansal_ from Lori. "Nobody can see this until daddy does on our bonding day," she reminded Lori as she rolled the blanket back up.

"But-but Milly see it!" the girl retorted.

"Girls can see it, but no boys until daddy," Nimwen clarified. "Now, that was a very bad thing, Lori. You shouldn't take out _mamae's_ things, especially after I told you not to."

"I-I just want Uncle Sin see it. It pretty!"

Nimwen sighed. "You're going to have a time-out. You're going to sit in the corner facing the wall for five minutes. No turning around, no talking, and no toys."

"That not fair!" Lori yelled.

"Do you want to make it ten?"

"I try be nice to Uncle Sin!"

"You want to make it fifteen?"

"You no fair!"

"Twenty?"

"I no go time out!"

" _Thirty_?"

"You mean!"

"Do you want me to make it an hour? Because I will, young lady, and I'll take your new doll _and_ you won't get to go to Mahvir's story."

Lori blanched.

"Go sit in the corner until I say you can leave," Nimwen demanded, pointing to the corner.

The toddler's face was red, her eyes watery, as she stomped to the corner. She sat down, arms crossed, and let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "Your blanket ugly," the girl mumbled.

Nimwen raised a brow. "What was that?"

The girl's back tensed.

"No talking," Nimwen repeated as she sat back down behind Sinderon. "You can open your eyes, you know?"

"You're scary sometimes."

Nimwen scoffed, returning to her braiding. "It's not always fun and laughter. I spent a long time spoiling her before I realized that was doing her no good. I had to learn to put my foot down."

That had been one of the hardest things Nimwen ever learned. It was a painful lesson, and it still hurt Nimwen when she had to punish Lori, especially when it led to the little girl crying. Still, it was a lesson she needed to learn, before things got out of hand. She still faced the repercussions of her old habits when Lori became demanding, stubborn, or didn't follow the rules. _'I'm not making that mistake twice.'_ Her hand grazed her stomach. Her next child was going to be given just as much love and support that he or she deserved, that she gave her other children. But she would not coddle them, and there would be rules.

"You ever use that voice on _him_?" Sinderon asked.

Nimwen chuckled, transferring another lock to the other side of the braid. "I've been tempted. One of these days he's going to get a face full of it."

"I think you've actually made me feel sorry for him."

* ~ x ~ *

The snow crunched under Solas's bare feet. He gripped his staff in one hand, keeping his breathing even as he tried to remember how to hunt. The last time had been many centuries ago and he had the aid of Elgar'nan with him then. Solas knelt down. His long fingers tracing the hoofprints in the deep snow.

A soft sound greeted his ears. Solas froze. Then sighed. It was the sound of someone in the trees not too far from here. The noise carried through the silent, frozen forest. There would be no game in this part for awhile. Solas straightened. A small breath escaped him. He moved towards the sound.

The sharp scent of blood cut through the crisper scent of coming snow. Solas could make out the still, bloody form of a ram laying in the thick snow. He paused when he saw a sled had been constructed next to it.

"Dirthamen," the name fell from his lips. His breath pluming in the air.

His gaze followed a rope which was attached around the ram. A few others moved to others trees around the clearing. Then there was the one moving to the tree just over Solas. Solas moved, eyes locked over him. Sure enough he could just make out a dark shape moving in the tree.

"What are doing up there?" Solas called.

"A hello to you as well, Solas," Dirthamen's reply was cool, not filled with the rage it had been the other day.

Solas cocked an eyebrow. A flicker of worry worming into his heart. Dirthamen's bad leg would be working against the other elf while he was in a tree.

Snow collided with Solas's head. He shook himself and blinked. The ram had moved so it was now on the sled. He sighed and looked around. His eyes fell over Dirthamen's thin frame, slumped over by the sled. Fine mists of his hot breath rose in quick succession around him.

Solas shook his head and moved through the snow towards Dirthamen. "You had to down a ram?"

Dirthamen's breathing was ragged. "I don't need," - he took several deep, shuddering breaths - "your judgement."

Solas glanced back at the tree he had seen Dirthamen in. There was a hole in a drift where Dirthamen had used his entire body weight to lift the ram through a series of pulleys spread throughout the trees. His gaze slid back over to Dirthamen.

Blood trickled from Dirthamen's lip and nose. He had split his lip in one of the falls and most likely hit his face when trying to climb a tree earlier. It reminded him so much of time little Dirth had tried to prove himself to Mythal and Elgar'nan by catching a rabbit for supper. The series of traps the seven-year-old Dirth had constructed and worked his little heart out on making just to catch that one rabbit. Upon learning how he had done it, Elgar'nan had been enraged, telling Dirth traps weren't how one caught dinner while Solas had been impressed. He had tried to explain to his hot headed brother it was a brilliant way to do it. Of course, Elgar'nan hadn't listened.

Solas felt his lips twitch. It was just like Dirthamen to figure out ways around his physical imparities. He felt a flicker of pride swell in his heart. The pride turned to worry when he noticed Dirthamen's breathing hadn't eased.

"Where's your bag?" Solas asked, voice even to keep the worry from it.

"I'm," Dirthamen gasped, "fine."

Solas moved to where Dirthamen's bag lay under the last tree. He picked it up and carried it over to the man. "Here." Solas held out the bag.

For a moment Dirthamen regarded him as his breathing worsened to thin wheezing. Then Dirthamen took the bag and pulled out a plant. " _Ma serannas_ , Solas," he whispered after sucking on the plant.

The thanks was enough of a permission Solas needed. He settled himself in the snow beside Dirthamen. "You really care for her," he stated.

Dirthamen lowered the plant and looked at the dead ram. "I feel all I will feel for her and all I feel for her in the now," he whispered and closed his eyes. " _Ir abelas_. I know this isn't the future you pictured for me."

Solas frowned. "Dirth-"

"I know, for my crimes I don't deserve happiness," Dirthamen whispered.

Solas didn't take Dirthamen's shoulder this time instead he sighed. "Listen, I didn't know what you had been up to twenty centuries ago. If I had known you were protecting children," Solas trailed off. He took a deep breath. "When you were five," Solas started, "you used to watch as I mixed paints."

Dirthamen didn't speak, he kept his dark eyes locked on the ram.

"You didn't speak, shift, or do anything a normal child your age would. You just watched. A few weeks later I came back to find the paint bowls spread across the floor of the cave with a stone staircase constructed to get up to the alcove I'd kept them in. You were on the floor your hands covered in a muddy color and flour."

Dirthamen closed his eyes.

"At first I thought you had gotten into the paints, but you stood up and lifted one of the bowls. You said you got it thicker so the paint wouldn't run together. You had." Solas chuckled. "I still don't know how you got the stones there though."

"Falon," Dirthamen whispered. "I asked for his help." Pain had leaked into Dirthamen's voice. "Elgar'nan was upset I had convinced his perfect son to move the stones from the training yard."

"The point is, I've never known another child or person with your mind." Solas let out another breath. "I realize I can't take back everything I've done. That there is too much pain and anger between us for me to ever be a father to you." Solas looked at Dirthamen. "But, not for me, for Nimwen's sake, can we start over as friends?" He held out his hand to Dirthamen.

Dirthamen eyed Solas for a long moment then took his hand. "For Nimwen's sake." Dirthamen stood, using the sled of support. "The herd was spooked over the next rise," he informed Solas. He collapsed at the head of the sled and started weaving the ropes around the ram's corpse. "They'll be on alert, but you should be able to catch one without too many problems."

" _Ma serannas_." Solas stood. He wanted to offer to help Dirthamen, but knew better than to ask. If there was one thing Dirthamen got from Solas, it was his stubborn streak. The same stubbornness he seemed to have passed onto Lorien. He turned, when a thought hit him. "Does the child know?" Solas asked as he turned back to Dirthamen.

Dirthamen's hands froze in tying a binding for his waist and hands. "No," he whispered.

"Dirth," Solas started, "if you care for her, don't make the same mistake I did with _ma vhenan_. Tell her."

Dirthamen's eyes were pained. "I'm not a god," he whispered. Then he bowed his head, hands shaking on the rope. " _Ma serannas_ for the advice," his voice sounded as if he were speaking while trying to swallow a lemon. He took a deep breath and wiped the blood from his nose and lip. "I will tell her." He stood, cane in one hand, rope in the other. The rope was tied around his waist and right shoulder as well so that he could throw his weight behind pulling the sled. "You need to tell Nimwen why you're so overprotective of her," he stated.

Before Solas could reply to this, Dirthamen was pulling the sled, at an odd, staggering pace, back towards camp. Solas watched him go, heart uneasy. While he and Dirth would never see eye to eye on many matters, he didn't want to take Dirth's happiness this time around. His son had suffered enough.

Solas turned back to his own hunt.

Sure enough, Dirthamen had been right. The herd had fled just over the rise. Solas moved closer, his pace soft and quiet, breathing slow. There was ram close enough. He lifted his hand. Ice wrapped around the ram's hind leg. A bugle split the air.

The ground rumbled as the herd stampede. A loud snap rent the air as the ram he'd trapped tried to flee. Solas moved out of his cover and up to the wounded ram.

" _Ir abelas_ ," he whispered and he sank the bladed end of his staff into the soft hid of the ram's neck. The ram stopped struggle, beautiful eyes glazed as death settled into them.

The sun was setting by the time Solas managed to pull the ram to the edge of the camp. He leaned against a tree, breathing hard. It had been far too long since he had hunted large game and not been able to shift to a wolf to carry it back. He collapsed, trying to catch his breath.

* ~ X ~ *

"So, you see, it's just like my old arm."

Sinderon hummed in reply, studying her silverite limb.

Nimwen had explained to her brother how she came to possess the new arm. It came along with him telling her he's sorry for the loss of her limb, and her assuring him she was fine now. "It's probably the most expensive arm in Thedas. I'm sure there are some nobles out there seething with jealousy."

Sinderon smirked. "This Dagna, sounds skilled."

"She's the best," Nimwen replied. "Though, I also owe a lot to Mahvir as well."

"He is a good man."

"Indeed." Out of the corner of her eye Nimwen saw someone emerge from the trees. "Solas." Smiling, she stood up, pulling Sinderon to his feet. "Come, it's time you two met." She chose to ignore her brother's groan as she dragged the tall elf along. Her excitement turned to concern when she saw Solas on the ground. " _Vhenan_?" She let go of Sinderon and rushed towards Solas. "Are you all right?"

" _Ir abelas, vhenan_." Solas stood, still breathing hard. "It was a long walk back," he explained as he dusted off his robes.

"But I see you were successful," Nimwen said, taking in the ram. "Well done."

Solas nodded, but didn't otherwise speak as he looked around the camp. "Has Mahvir not returned?" he asked in even tones, not even hesitating this time to call him Mahvir.

"I don't think so," Nimwen frowned. "Is he still hunting?"

"No, he downed a ram long before I did," Solas explained. "I ran across him while he was tying it to a sled."

"Sinderon ran into him as well." Nimwen's eyes widened when she remembered who was with her. "Speaking of which." She took Sinderon's hand and forced him to come forward. " _Vhenan_ , this is my older brother, Sinderon. Sin, this is Solas." Nimwen smiled at her brother, while her eyes warned him of his promise.

Face blank, albeit with eyes ever so narrowed, he stepped forward and looked down at Solas.

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sinderon." Solas gave the slightest bows of his head.

Nimwen watched as her brother eyed Solas up and down. He was so much taller than Solas, he only reached Sinderon's chin. Yet Nimwen knew Solas would have no trouble besting the hunter should they cross each other. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Sinderon glanced at the ram. "You're a mage?"

"I am," Solas stated in reply.

"How did you kill it?"

Solas hesitated then sighed. "I froze its leg then killed it. Unfortunately that strategy always scatters the herd."

Sinderon hesitated. "You completed your task with no bow. Still impressive."

Had he just given Solas a compliment? _'Maybe this can work.'_ Nimwen thought, hopeful.

" _Ma serannas_." Solas turned when they heard a soft sound from the forest behind them.

A few moments later Mahvir appeared. " _Ir abelas_ for interrupting." He gave Nimwen a smile. A rope was tied around his waist and across his shoulder. One held in his right hand. The sled could barely be seen through the underbrush but it was clear there was small ram on it.

"You're back," Nimwen was immediately worried at the sight of his injuries and the exhaustion on his face. "Goodness, you're a mess," she sighed. "Did you wrestle with that ram?"

His ears turned red and Mahvir coughed. "A little, but that's not where the injuries came from." He slipped out of the ropes and tugged the sled the rest of the way into camp.

It was then Nimwen noticed the bluish wood carefully wrapped in several cloths. It was Ironbark. More wood could be seen beside it, some of it she knew as oak and other hardwoods, all difficult to get even in the small amounts Mahvir had. There were some other pieces she didn't recognize as well.

"Where did you get all of this?" Nimwen asked.

"There is an Ironbark tree on the way back from where the rams were," Mahvir explained. "One of the branches broke from the snow so I stopped to collect it. A few oaks had the same problem with the heavy snow."

"What are you going to do with all of that?"

"I will give it to the craft's master and request a small amount of the ironbark for the gears in the toys I make for the older children," Mahvir stated. "Some of the wood is only good for toys and fire. So I will keep what the clan doesn't need."

"I'm sure the crafters will be pleased," Nimwen smiled. "I also wanted to thank you. Sin told me what you did for him earlier."

"I wish I could have gotten to him earlier. Did you get warmed up when you got back?" Mahvir asked Sin.

The hunter nodded, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

"I'm glad. And am certain that duck you aided was most grateful." Mahvir bowed his head to them. "I need to get the wood to the crafters before the water settles too far into it." He re-tied the rope around his waist and started an awkward limp into the camp.

Solas shifted. He had remained silent through the conversation and not done anything to Mahvir.

' _At least they can be near each other,'_ Nimwen thought. Everything had to start somewhere.

"Solas." Sinderon turned to the other man. "I have a question."

Solas looked at Sinderon, one eyebrow cocked. "Yes?"

"Do you regret leaving my sister?"

"Sinderon," Nimwen hissed.

He shot her a look. He turned back to Solas, silently awaiting a reply.

"It is all right, _vhenan_ ," Solas assured Nimwen. He looked at Sinderon. "There isn't a day which goes by I don't regret leaving."

"What was so important as to make you leave her?"

"Brother-"

"What was it you deemed more important than Nimwen?"

Solas looked at Sinderon for a very long time. "To explain would end up revealing truths the Dalish are not ready for," he stated. "What I will tell you is I am old. Change isn't something I am good at and waking to this world is a change I am still adjusting to, _da'len_." The way he spoke was stern, but Nimwen could hear the slightest tremor in Solas's voice. It was hard for Solas to confess this.

Sin's face was calm, but Nimwen could sense the tension in his stance. "I love my family, and this clan." he said. "And my sister loves you, as does my niece. Which is why I will tolerate you, perhaps we might get along someday, but forgive me if that day does not come soon, _hahren_." He said the title with a clip in his voice. "Do well by them, and you shall have no trouble from me. Understand?"

"Understood," Solas stated in reply.

Sinderon nodded. He turned towards camp. "I have work to do."

Solas moved and grabbed the ram. "I can only imagine what would happen if he met my brother," he muttered.

"Pray that never happens," Nimwen said. Suddenly the scent of raw meat hit her and she put a hand over her mouth.

" _Ir abelas, vhenan_." Solas touched her shoulder. "You should head back to the _aravel_. We'll talk after I get this to the Keeper." He sounded more than a little worried.

"I'm fine, _vhenan_ ," Nimwen assured him. "It's just the pregnancy, raw meat makes me queasy. I am heading back to the _aravel_ to check on Lori."

"I will see you there." Solas bowed his head to her before he started to drag the ram across the camp towards the bonfire.

She could feel her stomach settle as the smell faded away. She started towards the _aravel_ , a sense of weight lifting from her. Sinderon and Solas had met, and both were still alive. Solas and Mahvir could stand next to each other.

Nimwen glanced down at her stomach, stroking the bump that was starting to form. "Maybe you're family won't be crazy when you're born," she smiled. She shook her head. "No, we're always going to be crazy." Hopefully, though, they would be together.

When Solas returned to the _aravel_ , he had a troubled look in his pale eyes.

" _Vhenan_ , what's wrong?" Nimwen asked. Lori was with Milliel at the moment, so she didn't have to hide her concern.

Solas closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. "While hunting, Dirth and I spoke. We reached an accord," he started. "As part of it, I agreed to tell you why I've been so overprotective as of late."

Nimwen blinked. This was a surprise. "All right." She patted the space beside her on the bed. "Sit down and let's talk."

Solas settled himself beside her and pulled her into his arms. His robes were cold and still smelled of the crisp snow. "You know I am a dreamer," he started. "As such, I am physically weaker than most mages." He placed his hand on her stomach, his other arm wrapped, protectively around her shoulders. "As your pregnancy progresses, I fear what will happen if you fall," he whispered, breath warm on her ear. "You are everything to me, _vhenan_ , you and our children. I can't stand the thought of your injured with me unable to help you."

"Solas." Nimwen understood now. The hovering, insisting she rest. Solas must have been worrying himself sick. " _Vhenan_ , I'm fine. We're fine." She placed her hand on top of his. "Everything will be all right. There were no problems with Lori, and the second time is always easier. You have nothing to worry about."

"It doesn't stop me from worrying." He drew her closer and kissed her.

*~ X ~*

Dirthamen had taken the ram to the keeper and hunters. He had planned to arrive right before her attention would be grabbed by something other than the fact he had ignored her suggestion. True to his vision, she had been pulled away by clan matters after only getting a few choice words off at him.

" _Ma serannas_ , Toymaker." The craft's master looked at the Ironbark, his eyes shining. "I can always count on you to find where some of this precious bark has fallen." He took some of it and passed it to Dirthamen. "There, if I recall those marvelous moving toys of yours need Ironbark to work."

Dirthamen smiled. "You have a good memory, craft's master, and my thanks " The wood was still damp but he could dry it without heat in his bag. "I hope the rest of the wood proves useful as well."

"Oh, it will. Now, you should get Teren to look at those scratches or I'll not have the keeper on my case for a month."

"Of course." Dirthamen bowed his head to the craft's master. "Good evening, Craft's Master."

"Good evening." He turned from Dirthamen and started to look at the Ironbark, grinning.

The pain stabbed through Dirthamen's leg as he limped towards where Teren was. The ground was more ice than snow at this point. Dirthamen had to focus on each step which was made harder by the growing pain in his leg. The pain was tolerable, but would worsen given the abuse he'd placed it through today coupled with the biting cold settling in for the night. They were in for a heavy snow storm.

Sure enough Teren was just outside his _aravel_ speaking with Keeper Deshanna. His expression serious and arms folded across his chest.

Theon was beside them, furs wrapped around his thin shoulders. His breath rose in fine plooms as he pulled the furs a little tighter. Theon was the first to notice Dirthamen's extremely slow approach. "You look like you fell from another tree, _ma falon_." His expression was sympathetic and happy at the same moment.

The moment he had spoken, it had drawn Teren's and Deshanna's attention to Dirthamen's approach. Teren broke away from them and moved to Dirthamen's side. He wrapped an arm around Mahvir's shoulders. "You're limp is heavier than normal, did you both climb a tree and fall out of it while gathering wood today, Toymaker?"

A soft chuckle escaped Dirthamen though it was breathless. The cold and day's exertion had started to close his lungs. "Perhaps."

"You need to learn not to climb trees even for Ironbark," Teren scolded. "It's dangerous even if you only had bad lungs, but your balance sucks with that leg of yours."

Deshanna folded her arms across her chest. "Get him into your _aravel_ , Teren. I will see to it Theon follows."

"To what pleasure do I get for entering the healer's _aravel_?" Theon asked, his thinning eyebrows raised.

"Warmth for the night, Theon," Teren replied.

"Couldn't I be treated out here?" Dirthamen asked even knowing between Deshanna's words and Teren's strong grip on his shoulders, he would end up in the _aravel_ no matter what.

"It's going to be too cold for sleeping outside tonight." Teren helped Dirthamen into the _aravel_. "And the creators only know what you did out there. With Sylaise's blessing I can get you fixed right up for a good night's sleep."

A goodnight's rest would be a change.

Dirthamen staggered as he entered the healer's _aravel_. Warmth washed over his frozen body until he felt his fingers and toes tingle with returning feeling.

The first section of the _aravel_ was just large enough for four elvhen to be be seated with some comfort. Mixing bowls lined a few shelves to one side while a fur had been placed by a small table to sit and mix new poultices and potions. Another fur was to the right where a quick in and out patient would sit to be helped. Just ahead of Dirthamen was a cloth which divided this room and the next, larger space, in the _aravel_.

"Come." Teren took Dirthamen's cane and leaned it against a wall. "You are heading to the overnight sections." Teren gave a soft, kind smile.

Dirthamen was forced to follow Teren, placing his entire weight onto the healer. Pain lanced through his bad leg when he placed even a little limping weight on it. The warmth of the _aravel_ had taken the numbing cold from his bad limb.

The cloth dividing the _aravel_ was brushed aside by Teren. The inner part was divided into four sections each holding a bed covered in deep furs and pillows for comfort. Teren helped Dirthamen over to the first set of furs. The softness of the pelts felt almost foreign to him.

Theon appeared a few heartbeats later and settled himself across from Dirthamen. "I will say it is warmer here than my own _aravel_ ," the old elf conceded.

"Good, so you both will stay for the night since there are no sick in the clan." Deshanna appeared, she carried a bowl of melted snow in her hands. There was no need to use his sight to tell Deshanna had used fire magic to heat the snow. A soft trail of steam rose from the water. "While Teren sees to those scratches," - she gestured at Dirthamen's face - "I will check your leg for signs of further damage."

"I just strained it a little," Dirthamen told her. "There's no need for you to check it."

Deshanna huffed. "I will be the judge of that. You could be bleeding out and say you're fine."

"Yes, well." Dirthamen coughed and looked away from her. She was right, of course. He could have been dying and wouldn't have wanted someone to aid him.

Warm water touched Dirthamen's face. Soft stinging pain shot through him where the cloth had touched his wounds. He didn't move or make a sound. This was nothing especially compared to when Nimwen had healed a dagger wound Solas had given him. That had even paled when he thought on the torture of his childhood and the experiments done on him then.

He was more aware of Deshanna by his bad leg. "I told you to down a rabbit, but you had to prove you could kill a ram." Her eyes narrowed and she scowled at his leg. "You've aggravated your leg and undone what little progress you made."

"What's this about downing a ram?" Theon asked. He had settled himself back against the wall. A fur wrapped over the original fur over his shoulders and one now draped over his legs. He looked quite content in the warmth of the _aravel_.

"Ah, yes, I've not told you. Mahvir not only joined the clan this morning, but is being bonded to young Milliel." Even before Deshanna had started to speak, Dirthamen felt his ears grow hot.

"W-what?" Teren's hand fell from Dirthamen's face. His eyes wide and mouth open.

Theon chuckled. "It's her red hair, isn't it?"

This only made Dirthamen feel blood rush to his face in a flush of embarrassment. "I don't see how her having red hair has anything to do with this," he tried to defend himself, even knowing he had been attracted to red-heads since he had been young.

Teren burst out laughing. "About time. I don't even care she's _so much_ younger than you." Dirthamen coughed when Teren clapped him on the back. "I always wondered when you would join the clan officially." The healer grinned, eyes shining. "So, you going all out? _Vallaslin_ and all?" He pointed to his face and the intricate markings of Sylaise. "If so, I suggest Dirthamen's for you."

Deshanna coughed and exchanged a look with Theon.

Dirthamen chuckled. " _Ir abelas, ma falon_ , but I still belong to all elvhen. It would do no good for me to enter a city we pass with a _vallaslin_. I will have an easier time with the humans and those of the People in city." Plus that was just weird getting a _vallaslin_ which nowadays would be honoring himself. "Besides, I've had enough markings on me for one life." He still bore the tattoo on his right shoulder blade which marked him as a slave of the ancient imperium.

A soft laugh came from Theon. "Yes, you do belong to all the People and all the People belong to you."

"As a family should be," Dirthamen added.

"Teren," Theon started as he looked at the healer, "I do believe you have been saving a bottle of the fine wine we traded for a few years ago."

"The good stuff?" Teren asked then grinned. "I'll fetch it and a few bowls so we can drink. This is news to celebrate after all!" The healer vanished into the space at the very back of the _aravel_. It was his room within the _aravel_ so that he wouldn't be too far from his sick clan mates.

"Really, you want all of us to end up here tonight, Theon?" Deshanna asked. She settled herself on the furs beside Dirthamen. Despite the sternness in her voice there was a light in her eyes which said she wouldn't mind being hungover in the morning.

"Oh, this coming from the girl who loves the sweet white, wine so much she ended up passing out?" Theon teased.

Dirthamen shuddered. That wine was nasty.

"It's an Antivian red, _ma falon_ ," Theon assured Dirthamen.

"I'm counting on it."

Deshanna laughed. "But I adore seeing the face you make with the white ones."

"She adores pure torture it seems, Theon," Dirthamen joked.

"Very funny." Deshanna folded her arms across her chest, expression akin to a mother scolding her children.

"I've got it." Teren returned and blinked. "Were you two teaming up on the keeper again?" Teren asked. "Without me to back you up?"

"You would take Theon's side, wouldn't you?" This made Deshanna's scowl deepen.

"In all but medical matters." Teren knelt down and poured the red wine into four bowls. He passed the bowls around. "A toast," - he lifted his bowl - "to the Toymaker finally joining the clan."

"To him finally taking my advice on settling down!" Deshanna lifted her own bowl.

"And to being stubborn such as we old fools are." Theon smiled at Dirthamen.

Dirthamen chuckled. "And to family," he added before drinking some of his wine.

Warmth filled his heart as he lowered the bowl. Each new bowl of wine made his oldest friends dissolve further into teasing him and one another. It felt, as if in this moment, the years had been lifted from them. They were no longer the oldest of the clan, but just good friends enjoying time together. No responsibilities to worry about. Nothing but one another.

* * *

 **Flamewing:** I am sorry this is late. I had tests most of last week and this week.  
I love writing Deshanna with Teren and Theon. Deshanna is shared between Herenya and I. We tried having only one of us writing her in the past, but it led to one of us having to keep explaining what she knew or how she should act to a the other's written character, thus, she's shared. I still love the elders of the clan. There is something about them and interactions which just get me smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

Dirthamen limped through the snow, pacing. Dawn light could just be seen over the tips of the trees. His breath rose in fast plooms of mist, heart racing with unease. Last night the keeper had announce Dirthamen and Milliel were going to be bonded. He had been with Milliel until they'd split for sleep. She would be sleeping in her old _aravel_ for a time. Now, he was pacing.

While he had agreed with Solas it would be wise to tell Milliel the full truth, it didn't make it any easier. He had battled with himself all night. Each time he closed his eyes he had fought against the images of her reaction. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel rejection twice. He just wanted her happy and to be a good father to his blood children. His mind flashed to his other blood child.

No!

Dirthamen stopped pacing and shook his head. "Don't think about it," he whispered. "Just wait for her to wake."

No child would suffer the same fate as his and Andraste's daughter. His grip tightened on his cane. This time he would make certain of it even if Milliel rejected who he really was. His hand shook on his cane. He took a deep breath, letting the cold air tighten around his lungs. Yes, this time he would show himself to be a good father just like with his other children. He wasn't Elgar'nan. He wasn't Solas. He would love all his children!

The sun peaked over the trees, lighting up the camp in its weak, early winter rays. Dirthamen watched the light sweep across the frozen ground to him. He shivered. Somehow the sun always felt colder than the night. Perhaps it was just because today he would learn if his fear was founded. If he would be rejected for all of who and what he was.

He closed his eyes.

It was taking what little focus he had right then to keep Fear and Deceit from his mind. He didn't need their taunting words to talk him out of this. He knew he loved Milliel. He felt warmth in him when he looked at her. She stirred feelings he'd not felt since Andraste.

Guilt prickled at him as he thought on his beloved Andraste. She had been married, the mate to another man. He had done exactly what his father had. It was something which still haunted Dirthamen. Yet, Andraste had meant the world to him. In some ways, moving on felt as a betrayal to her memory.

"Stop it," he hissed to himself. He hadn't betrayed Andraste. No more than he had anyone else in his life at least.

The sound of the early risers soon came to Dirthamen. He straightened, but didn't turn to Milliel's _aravel_. He wanted to pray to some higher power, everything would all right. But there was no higher power he could believe in. Even the Maker. He took another deep breath, steeling himself. He closed his eyes and when he next opened them, he knew his face was calm. He turned.

The door to her _aravel_ swung open, and she shuffled outside. She let out a loud yawn, oblivious to his presence. She wore typical Dalish hunting garb, except with longer pants to keep out the cold. Her curly hair bounced as she stretched her arms upwards. Her eyes caught his, and the last of her sleep was gone.

"Morning," she smiled.

"Goodmorning." He managed to return her smiled with a soft one of his own. Even in the state of just waking she was beautiful. She was the most radiant, red flower as its petals opened to greet the first rays of the warm, spring sun.

"So last night was exciting, I don't think I ever saw my mother that happy before." She grinned. "She loves you now, you know? Called you quite the charmer."

Dirthamen's heart flipped at the sight of her grin. "She is a very nice woman," he said. "I look forward to getting to know her better." Yet, if today didn't go well, he would be kept at a distance. Cold wrapped around his heart on the thought. He took a deep breath. "After you eat, would you care to join me for a walk?" he asked.

"Certainly," Milliel agreed. "Though you could always eat with me. I have some hearthcakes stashed in my _aravel_. Turns out they aren't as sweet after two days."

Dirthamen chuckled. "True and _ma serannas_ for the offer, but I've never been on for any kind of sweet no matter how stale." He wanted to join her though. "Though, I will join you, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. You stay here while I grab one." She quickly retreated back into her _aravel_ , leaving the door open in her haste.

Dirthamen smiled. But his smile fell as his stomach churned with nerves. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed with Solas. He could back out and not tell Milliel. Yet, he would always hate himself for doing so. She had far more of a right to know who he really was than even Andraste. With Andraste, he had known she would turn from seeing him as her general and secret lover to nothing more than a tool and asset. With Milliel - his stomach turned, twisting further into knots.

He took another deep breath. He loved her, even if it was only the second day they were together. He could feel the warmth of one future with Milliel and wanted it more than anything. In the same moment, this was one secret he couldn't keep to himself.

"Back!" In her rush she ended up tripping on the last step. She stumbled as she regained her balance. "Stupid step," she mumbled. "All right, hearthcakes acquired, let's sit by the fire and block out this cold."

"Agreed." He limped beside her. He knew she was fine from the trip. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked.

"Tired, but that's just from mother talking my ear off last night over the bonding ceremony." She sighed. "With all that excitement you'd think _she_ was the one getting bonded."

Dirthamen chuckled. "Your mother loves you a great deal." He settled himself by the fire and pulled out a blanket to help keep Milliel a little warmer in the early morning chill.

The huntress leaned closer to him as she unwrapped her hearthcake. "I've been testing to see what time is best for them," she told him. "Two days is perfect, barely and sweetness and it the outside gets nice and crunchy. Any longer and it's like eating a rock," she chuckled. She bit into the cake and let out an appreciative noise. "Perfection."

Dirthamen smiled. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder to help keep the blanket on her as well as just being close to her made his heart light with happiness. He watched as she ate the cake, mind between numb joy and freezing fear.

"You _sure_ you don't want any?" She turned it around and held it in front of his face. "Come on, Mahvir, it wants you to love it." She wiggled the hearthcake. " _'Eat me, Mahvir, I'm delicious.'_ "

He chuckled. "Very well." He broke off a small piece and popped it into his mouth. It took a lot of effort on his part not to gag on the sweet flavor. While a lot more tolerable than the fresh, the flavor was still nasty as it echoed through his mouth. He swallowed. "Better than the fresh," he agreed, "but still a little too sweet for my liking." He smiled at her.

"More for me then," she shrugged. She put her head on his shoulder. "Are there any sour desserts?" she asked.

"Probably, but I will take bitter over sour." Dirthamen drew her a little closer. "It's just me being the picky, picky eater." He soothed back some of her pretty hair.

"Before we joined the clan, my mother was a maid for some _shem_ noble. His wife always wanted this strange looking pie, it was green. Once, when I was eight, I snuck into the kitchen and found some. It smelled sour, so when nobody was looking, I stole a slice." Milliel scrunched up her nose. "It wasn't sour at all, it was sweet and gross. Plus, I got canned when they found out I stole a slice. Spent three days stuck in bed," Milliel chuckled, but there was a hollowness to it. "Those nobles were horrible. They used to beat all the servants for no reason. My mom got a black eye once because she put the Lady's brush on the left side of the boudoir instead of the right, and they canned me over some stupid, nasty pie. _Canned,_ an eight year old." Whether she knew it or not, Milliel crushed the remainder of her hearthcake in her fist. "I hated them so much. I wanted mum to quit, but we had nothing. My father died and those asshats were the only ones who gave mum a job, and nobody from the alienage was going to help."

Dirthamen drew Milliel closer to him. "You are with your People now." It was little consolation and he knew it. The People were chased and beaten for no other reason than the fact their ears were pointed. He hated it. He did have the power to change the world, but that was even worse than doing nothing. He wasn't a god.

Milliel nuzzled next to him. "You're right," she sighed. "This is where I belong. I would have made a terrible maid." She snickered. "Made a bad maid, get it?"

He chuckled. "But you make a wonderful huntress."

Milliel smiled. " _Ma serannas,_ Onion."

" _Ma sulahn'nehn_ ," he whispered back.

She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Can I kiss you?"

"You need permission?" he teased, raising both eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips to his. "There, I do what I want."

He chuckled and tucked a lock of her curly hair behind her pointed ear. It didn't stay. "Would you like more to eat?" he asked. "There is a lot of ram left over."

"Sure, you want some?"

"It would be for the best. Creators only know Deshanna will have my head if I skip another meal." Even as he said this, his stomach churned with fear over what was to come today.

"All right, let's go before the good parts are taken. Faen was going at it last night and if I have to fight him for some dark meat there will be bloodshed," she giggled.

"I don't believe he's awake yet." Dirthamen managed to get to his feet and held out his hand to Milliel. "But better safe than sorry."

She took his hand, smirking. "Then let us seize the morn', good sir," she said it a poor imitation of a noble voice.

"Let's." He pulled her to her feet, feeling his bad leg strain and pulse with pain.

Dirthamen managed to eat a small amount of the dark meat which remained with Milliel. It wasn't much but enough to keep Deshanna happy later on. The sun was well above the trees by the time the two of them moved into the forest. The sun glistened off the snow as it would have countless diamonds.

Dirthamen led her to sheltered part of the forest. He had gathered dry wood and built a small fire pit last night for this moment today. His heart raced and he could feel the unease wrapping around him with each passing moment.

"What's all this?" Milliel asked.

The heat of a match graced Dirthamen's fingers. He dropped it into the kindling. The fire would keep them warm at least. "I need to show you something and I am not certain you will like what you learn here," he stated. "Please, sit across from me." He gestured to where he had placed a blanket for her.

"O-okay." There was confusion and worry in her features as she sat down. "Is everything all right? Are we,"-she gestured between them- "I mean, I thought things were fine, right?"

Dirthamen settled himself across from her and removed his right glove. "You are a light in the darkness, Milliel, and for this reason you have a right to know all of who I am."

"What do you mean, Shartan?"

"Shartan is only one of the many names I've carried throughout my life." He lifted her hand. "If you would permit, it is easier to show you."

Her brow furrowed. "Show me? Sure but, show me what exactly?"

"You will see, _ma sulahn'nehn_. And before I do, I want you to know, no matter what may come, no matter what you may think of me, I will be there for you and the child." Before she could reply he placed two of his fingers on her temple. The touch soft.

The fire and forest melted away to a sea of stars. Mist wrapped around them and they were no longer sitting across from one another rather standing. The light closest to them echoed with sound, showing images of moments to come or long since passed. Within one he could hear the distant secrets a Dalish whispered to him in prayer.

"Wh-what's going on?" Milliel stammered. Her eyes darted around, wide with fear. "Where are we? H-h-how did you do this?"

"It is a less chaotic projection of my abilities. One way to explain it is we are sharing what I see, feel, touch, taste, and know at any given moment. Each light is a moment in time: past, present, or future." He walked forward, not needing a cane in a projected image. He stopped before one of the images close to them. It showed Milliel with her mother the night before. He turned away from it and another moved closer, showing Milliel the Dalish praying to him. "As I said, I have gone by many names in history. There are two all the Dalish remember me by."

"T-two?" Milliel cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean all the Dalish know it? What is it? Who are you?"

"The first," he started. "As you know, is Shartan." As he spoke the scars vanished from him. His hair shortened and clothing was replaced by a set of armored robes. Glandivalis was strapped to his back, twin daggers on his belt. "But, while nothing I've said was a lie, the slavery I was born into wasn't one at the hand of the Imperium. I was already old by the time I took the name Shartan and aided the People and Andraste in the fight against the Imperium. It was far from my first war."

"You look…" Her eyes scanned him, taking in the image of him from time long passed. "But, wait, you were already grown then? What slavery were you born to if not the Imperium's?"

Dirthamen looked at her eyes sad. An image flew over them as his clothing changed once more. His hair grew until it fell past his waist. Fine robes of rich purple replaced the armor. A belt of woven gold appeared around his waist. A hood fell down his back and twin daggers, made of fine gold and ironbark replaced those he had been wearing before.

The image wrapped around them to show a desolate world, the world he had been born to. Green lightning flashed in the distance. Shadows moved through darkness, carry heavy stone. As another lightning flashed, it revealed the shapes as elvhen, wearing nothing but tattered cloths. Some weren't even wearing that much.

Five shapes appeared through the darkness closest to them. Two full grown elvhen men and one woman. The woman carried a small boy. His ears poked out from his head, seeming to large. The second man who was clearly Solas with long matted, brown-gold hair, held to the hand of a second, smaller boy.

"What is this place?" Milliel's voice was quiet.

"A memory of a forgotten past," Dirthamen told her. "My earliest memory."

The lead elf stopped and glared back towards where Solas was helping the small boy back to his feet. "Leave him, Solas. He won't make it passed the Shadow One's guard."

Solas scowled and lifted the boy off the ground. "We stay together, Elgar'nan!" He moved after the other. When they stood closer, glaring at one another it was more than clear they were brothers.

"Did-did he just call him-?" Milliel gasped, a hand going to her mouth. "Elgar'nan? I-I don't understand…"

Dirthamen felt his heart break a little.

"We're not leaving Dirth because of your pride," Solas growled and strode passed Elgar'nan.

"No, we're taking him because of yours!" Elgar'nan snapped back.

"Enough," the woman hissed. "You're bickering will draw the attention of the guards. We take Dirth with us." She moved after Solas. "That's final, love." Her hand brushed Elgar'nan's.

The images faded until they were back in the sea of stars.

"The name I was given at birth was Dirth," Dirthamen told Milliel, looking at her as pain and fear filled him. "Later the People gave me a full name: Dirthamen."

She stared at him, eyes owlish and her mouth agape. "Dirthamen? Y-you're _Dirthamen_?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Holy fuck." She began to shuffle in place, her hands in her hair as she seemed to come undone. "You're Dirthamen. I'm with-y-you're… holy shit, you're Dirthamen! I mean wh-wh-what am I supposed to do?! I don't know proper protocol! I hunt things and kill shit, this is not a part of the _Vir Tanadahl_." She groaned. "Now, I'm rambling, great. Okay, okay." She began to pace. "You're Dirthamen." She paused, suddenly tense. "Wait, sweet fuck on a stick, I'm betrothed to Dirthamen?!" she squawked. "Is that even allowed? Fuuuuck me. Well, you already did that- wait, crap, did I just say that? Please forget I just said that," she begged, waving at him frantically.

Dirthamen took a pace back. His ears ringing. This was what he had feared.

"I'm sorry, this is just. Wow. I mean, granted this is actually kind of amazing and incredible now that I think about it," she mused. "And I thought it was amazing to find out you were Shartan, wow! But, wait, what do I call you now? Urgh, why do you have to have so many names?" she laughed. "I-I am I still talking? I really need to stop before I say something stupid."

He backed furthered away, staring at her. Time fast forwarded around him. His clothing returned to rags, his long hair returned to just over shoulder length and matted. He kept backing away with each word she'd uttered. She didn't see him as him anymore.

"Wait, where are you going?" Panic took over her face. "Sh-Shartan? Dirthamen? _Mahvir_? Did-did I say something wrong?" Her voice was choked. " _Ir abelas_ , I didn't mean it! This was just a shock and I ramble and… please come back!" she begged. "I'm sorry, please don't leave again! Onion?"

"I am still here," he stated. "I won't leave you. I told you this going in." Images were racing around them from his rampant emotions. Moments in time flashing before them. Some swung out:

Falon'din holding a blood soaked knife as he leaned over Dirthamen. A little Dirth held down by Mythal, Elgar'nan over him. War against the Forgotten. Dirthamen holding a wounded Falon'din. Two ravens before him taunting him.

It was enough.

Dirthamen closed his eyes. She didn't need to see this. The images stopped and returned to the small lights.

"Onion!" She grabbed him into a bear hug, practically lifted him off the ground. " _Ir abelas_ , I'm such an idiot, I don't know what I was saying." Her eyes were watery. " _Ir abelas_ ," she repeated, hugging him tighter.

It was a good thing this was projection otherwise he was certain she would have broken some of his ribs from the hold. "None of this is your fault. I am Mahvir now, not Shartan or Dirthamen. But you had a right to know just who it was you slept with."

He removed his fingers from her temple. The air was still warm from the fire. Deceit flapped up and dropped another stick into. "Embers!" the white raven cawed, blue eyes glittering with joy.

Dirthamen scowled when he saw Fear had decided Milliel's head was a nice place to roost. "Fear, get off her head."

"It's nice up here. She's mortal nest head."

"Fear!" Dirthamen growled at the raven.

"D-d-did they just _talk_?" Milliel squeaked, staring at the bird in her hair, petrified.

"You're scaring her. Get out of her hair." Dirthamen's eyes narrowed.

"I know, isn't it great." Fear's red eyes glowed with joy.

"Fear, this instant," Dirthamen growled.

"Fine." Fear flapped over to Dirthamen's shoulder. "You're no fun anymore, Dirthamen."

"Dirthy was fun?" Deceit hopped around the fire one stick held in her talons. She poked at the fire.

Dirthamen sighed. "Milliel, this is Deceit," - he gestured to the white raven - "and the one who likes scaring everyone, is Fear. I bound them to me many centuries ago."

"He's our ticket to eternal life," Fear stated as he nestled into Dirthamen's shoulder. "Only reason we demons stick with him."

"Yup, _only_ reason," Deceit cawed.

"Fine, it's not the _only_ reason," Fear snapped his beak in annoyance.

"It is." Deceit fluffed her feathers. "Speak more, Oaf, and I'll claw out your eyes."

"Demons?" Milliel eyed the pair with nervous suspicion. "But they're _birds_."

"Deceit's idea," Fear muttered, eyes lidded. "And you owe us a meal, Dirthamen. We've not gotten more than scavenged food in _months_."

"Embers!" Deceit flapped into the air, twisting around the fire. "So warm!"

"This is kinda weird," Milliel chuckled nervously. "What else do you have? You got a pair of wings I don't know about?"

Deceit landed on Milliel's shoulder and perind a little. "She's almost as pretty as me." She fluffed up her feathers against the cold. "No, he doesn't have wings."

"Don't listen to that ball of wasted feathers," Fear stated. "He has wings."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

"Doesn't."

"Does."

"Enough, both of you!" Dirthamen shook head.

"We could tell her about the one time you wrestled a bear," Deceit stated.

"I've never wrestled a bear," Dirthamen corrected.

"You want your girl to see you as girly?" Deceit's eyes grew wide.

"Did you wrestle a bear?" Milliel asked, eyes bright. "I punched a bear once! Got this scar from it, look." She pulled up her pant leg to reveal the large crescent shaped scar on her calf. "It bit my leg, so I clocked it in the face," she grinned.

"Oh, she's more manly than you are!" Deceit tossed back her head. "Perhaps she should be my mate."

Dirthamen scowled. "You're a demon trapped as female bird," he stated.

"You're point?"

He sighed. "To answer your question: no, I've never wrestled a bear. Deceit is fond of telling lies."

"It wasn't a lie. I saw it," Deceit defended herself.

"You saw Falon'Din," Fear corrected. "They do look a lot alike. Though, his hair is lighter in color and eyes yellow. He's stronger, and if I were an elf, I would rather him over you as a mate."

Dirthamen didn't react to this. It was a familiar poking by Fear. Long ago, the fact most, well, actually _all_ girl's Dirthamen had liked had chosen his brother over him, had been a point of contention. His first love had chosen his brother and had a son with him. Not that Dirthamen had been upset over this, he had loved his nephew until Falon'din kicked the boy and his newly pregnant mother out of the castle. Dirthamen hadn't felt that was right and had tried to make it up to her and the boy. She had hit him instead, screaming that he was no better than Falon'din.

"You-" Fear gagged when Dirthamen stopped the demon from speaking his thoughts aloud.

"You should know better than to taunt Dirthy in front of a mortal by now, Oaf." Deceit leapt off Milliel's shoulder and landed on the ground. She hopped over to Dirthamen's bag. "There's no food in there."

"None."

"You are cruel, Dirthy."

"So, what do they do?" Milliel asked. "I mean, they are cute, but what can they do as birds?"

Deceit flapped up.

"You're not freezing the fire," Dirtahmen told the demon moments before she would have.

"Ah, but she asked." Deceit landed.

"We are demons," Fear stated. "I can create barriers and use magic to cause people's worst nightmares to come to life before them." He huffed, "But only when Dirthamen permits."

"I control ice, lightning, and memory," Deceit stated. "I can take thoughts of a person and twist them to be what I want. Again only when Dirthy permits."

"Oh, wow, that's scary," Milliel said. "I'll stay on your good sides then."

"You're Dirthy's mate," Deceit stated. "He cares about you and thus we can't harm you even a little."

"Sort of depressing reall-" Fear shrieked when Dirthamen shook him off his shoulder.

Milliel giggled. "Dirthy? That's cute."

"That's him, cute," Deceit cawed in laughter.

"You're not getting any more of Varric's books if you keep this up, Deceit."

Deceit's beak dropped. "No, no, no!" She flapped into the air and took hold of Dirthamen's hair. "No more Vair-Vair! No!"

"Uh, do you need help?" Milliel squeaked.

"Nooooooooo!" Deceit released his hair and fell to the ground beside Fear. Her legs twitched.

"She has an unhealthy obsession with that dwarf," Dirthamen explained. "They're both fine." He eyed the demons. "They're just putting on a show for you."

"They're quite the performers," Milliel smirked. "Think they could entertain the kid?"

"Kid?!" Deceit leapt to her feet. "Where? Where's a kid? I want it's sweets. Wait, no, no, I don't want to take its sweets."

Fear rolled onto his feet. "Wolf coming. And," he let out an excited caw and flew into the trees screaming, "Mortal Soft Shoulder!"

"What in Thedas is a 'Mortal Soft Shoulder?'" Milliel asked.

"Nimwen," Dirthamen explained. "And the wolf would be Solas."

Sure enough Solas appeared from the trees, holding Fear by his legs. "You lost your spirit," he stated to Dirthamen.

"Let go! Soft Shoulder, help!" Fear struggled in Solas's hold.

"You are not going near her," Solas glared at the demon.

"Solas, let go of him," Nimwen scolded, hands on her hips. "Stop that, he's harmless."

"Its an ancient, powerful Spirit of Fear," Solas stated.

"Yup, and proud of it. That doesn't mean I want to be held by a wolf!" Fear pecked Solas's hand.

Solas hissed and released the demon.

Fear flew up and landed on Nimwen's shoulder where he proceeded to nestle down and glare at Solas.

Solas scowled. "Dirth." He turned to Dirthamen. "Can you please get the spirit away from Nimwen?"

"I could, but he would just go back," Dirthamen explained. "He's never harmed her and never will, Solas."

Solas looked pale as he glanced back at Nimwen, worry clear in his pale eyes.

"I promise I will not hover over you," Dirthamen whispered to Milliel so that Solas and Nimwen couldn't hear him.

She snickered quietly. " _Ma serannas_ ," she whispered with a wink.

"Solas, I am not made of glass, enough of this fretting," Nimwen sighed. "Just as Mahvir told you, Fear has never harmed me and he and Deceit are quite friendly when they aren't held by their feet."

"Ha, she likes me!" Fear rubbed his beak against Nimwen's face.

Solas moved back over to them, expression unreadable. He turned to Dirthamen. "May we join you?"

Dirthamen looked at Milliel. It was more up to Milliel there than him.

"Of course, more the merrier," the redhead replied.

Without asking Nimwen, Solas stirred her over to the fire.

Dirthamen shook his head. "You know she's not going to break, right?"

Solas blinked. "I'm aware."

"Really? Hard to tell," Nimwen huffed as she sat down. " _Vhenan_ , you need to relax. How are you going to react once I'm months in? I don't need you dying of a heart attack."

"At least he wouldn't be dying alone," Fear huffed. He had hopped up to Nimwen's head while Solas had stirred her to the fire. Now, he settled himself back on Nimwen's shoulder. "At least you let me on your shoulder, Mortal Soft Shoulder. Dirthamen said no for nesting in the Mortal Nest Head's hair."

"I see you got a name as well," Nimwen smirked. Suddenly she grew pale and held a hand over her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Milliel asked.

" _Vhenan_." Solas helped Nimwen back up a little so that she could be sick in private.

"No, no, I'm fine," Nimwen choked out. "Nevermind."

Milliel winced at the sound of Nimwen getting sick. "You all right, _lethallan_?" she called out.

"I'm fine," Nimwen coughed.

Solas looked worried, more so than he had moments ago.

"You are aware, morning sickness is a natural part of pregnancy, right, Solas?" Dirthamen asked in a teasing tone.

Solas's ears reddened. He shot a glare at Dirthamen.

Dirthamen smiled in response. It was fun to tease the older elf.

"It won't last long," Nimwen assured Solas. "It stops happening after a while."

"I am not looking forward to that," Milliel smirked at Dirthamen.

Solas had been helping Nimwen back to her place by the fire when he froze. "Pardon?" Solas rose one eyebrow at Milliel.

Dirthamen felt ice form in the pit of his stomach. He knew full well what Solas's full reaction was going to be. It was both something he dreaded and, found rather amusing, actually.

"I, uh…" She kept her smile, but Dirthamen could see the panic in her eyes.

Nimwen raised a brow. "Milliel? Mahvir?"

"Help. Me. Onion." Milliel whispered through gritted teeth.

Dirthamen rubbed the back of his head. "Milliel's with child," he stated.

Solas's eyes widened.

"You might want to catch him, Nimwen." Dirthamen looked to Nimwen.

A moment later Solas's eyes rolled and he pitched backwards.

" _Vhenan_!" Nimwen squawked. She scrambled to catch him before he banged his head on the ground. She turned back to Dirthamen and Milliel. "She's pregnant?!"

"Yes?" Milliel replied nervously.

"I can't be a grandmother, I'm not even thirty!" She ran a hand through her hair. "How can this be? You slept together only a day ago! How can she be pregnant already?"

"You see when two adults sleep together," Dirthamen started then coughed. "Perhaps jokes aren't helpful right now. You are well aware of my," he scowled, " _gifts_ , Nimwen. The entire reason we rushed straight to bonding is because the pregnancy is a certainty."

Nimwen palmed her forehead. "This is insanity."

"Not that it helps any, but you're a great some odd aunt to many elvhen," Dirthamen stated with a smile.

"I'm what?!"

"I don't think that helped," Milliel whispered.

"I'm a great aunt? To whom?"

Dirthamen rubbed his head. "I realize that," he whispered back to Milliel. To Nimwen, he stated, "To one, everyone of Elgar'nan and Mythal's descendants and two, to all of Falon'Din's. I suppose it is hard to realize partnering into a family of ancient elvhen, just how many people carry our families blood." He looked at them. "Neither of you two do," he assured. Then looked at Solas. "I don't think he was ready for the news, however. One would think, being almost ninty centuries old, you would expect to have a grandkid by then."

" _Vhenan_? Time to wake up," Nimwen said, lightly patting Solas's face. When he didn't respond, she sighed. "This had better work." Suddenly a she had a terrified look on her face. "Solas, quick! The baby's coming!"

Solas jolted awake. "What?" Then he scowled. "That isn't funny, _vhenan_."

Dirthamen was was hiding his laughter behind his hand. It was more than funny, it was hilarious. Especially the look of utter horror which had been on Solas's face for a heartbeat.

"Now, you see why you need to relax?" Nimwen teased. She grew serious. "Now, let's all talk about this like adults."

"Listen, I'm sorry if you two are upset," Milliel spoke up. "We didn't plan this, but it's happening, and I want us all to get along."

Dirthamen was trying to stop the laughter, but the image of Solas snapping back kept replaying over and over in his head. He managed to hide the fact he was laughing but it was making his lungs tighten and scream.

"Five months ago I learned I was a father to not one but two kids. Now, I'm going to be a grandparent." Solas scowled at Dirthamen.

"Kid?" Dirthamen stopped laughing. "Out of everyone here I am the closest to your age, Solas."

"I think what Solas means," Nimwen cut in. "Is that this is going to take some time to sink in. This is some rather big news afterall."

"This whole day has been nothing but big news," Milliel said. "I mean, I just found out _he's_ Dirthamen!"

"You what?" Nimwen turned to Dirthamen. "You told her?"

Solas actually smiled. "You took my advice."

"You don't need to look so smug about it," Dirthamen stated in even tones.

"I am merely shocked you listened to my advice. When was the last time? When you were seven?"

"Fifteen and the girl laughed."

Nimwen chuckled. "I think this is the most civil conversation I've ever seen you two have."

Solas cocked an eyebrow then asked Dirthamen, "You never said anything about that."

"A girl laughed at me for something you told me say," Dirthamen stated. "Yes, wisest thing, going to tell the person you view as an uncle his advice sucked."

Solas scowled. "Perhaps it was the way you came off."

"I am fairly certain it wasn't."

"Now, who thinks he's always right?" Solas demanded.

"Oh, this coming from a man who only ever had one night stands outside of Mythal and Nimwen?" Dirthamen retorted.

Solas's ears turned bright red. "That isn't a matter to be discussed."

"Hold on." Nimwen touched Solas's arm. "I thought you said Mythal was a one time moment?"

"Oh, crap," Milliel whispered.

Solas sighed and rubbed his head. "She was."

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow. It was far from true, but he wasn't going to worsen the situation by pointing it out. The fact Solas and Mythal had kept seeing each other over the centuries, on and off, was one of the reason Elgar'nan had killed his mate. One, of many.

"Just know his romantic advice, sucks," Dirthamen stated, trying to change the subject.

"Come on, people, let's be civil," Milliel pleaded. "Oh, wait, hold on." She fished around in her bag and pulled out the other hearthcake. "I knew I saved this for a reason," she smiled. "Why don't we split this? People can't argue when they're eating hearthcakes."

Dirthamen couldn't stop the disgust at the idea of eating a hearthcake from appearing on his face. " _Ir abelas_ , _ma sulahn'nehn_ , it's just," he paused and whispered, "sweets are evil."

"We're not related," Solas stated.

"Tea is wonderful," Dirthamen continued, joking.

Solas made a face this time.

"Ooh, I could fetch us some tea," Nimwen proposed.

"Here," Dirthamen pulled out a hand made kettle and pouch. "I don't believe you minded black?" he asked.

Solas turned away.

"I know _you_ mind black, green, herbal, and white. I was asking Nimwen and Milliel."

"I don't mind black," Nimwen said.

"I like it," Milliel added. "But why do you have a kettle on you?"

"He has an infinity bag," Solas explained. "Only he ever could make them."

Dirthamen placed a finger over his lips.

"Wow." Milliel eyed Dirthamen's bag. "How many weapons can you fit in there?"

"Infinite," Dirthamen stated. "It is an infinity bag." He frowned. "Speaking of weapons." He set down the kettle, now filled with snow so that the water could heat up, then reached into the bag. "I've had this for the past twenty centuries. It's high time you took the darn thing back." He pulled out a beautiful staff from his bag. The head of it was that of a wolf, wood moving from it's head almost like wisps. He tossed it over the fire to Solas.

Solas caught it. "This is," his eyes widened.

"It's beautiful," Nimwen gasped. Her eyes raked over the staff. "What is it, _vhenan_?"

"It was my staff centuries ago. June crafted it at the same time he made Elgar'nan's sword and shield." He looked at Dirthamen. "I thought it was lost after the civil war."

"Seeing as I was the one who stopped you from breaking your neck after falling into a deep sleep, I took it to hide it from scavengers." Dirthamen shrugged. "Figured ancient elvhen technology and magic would fetch a high price or kill those who were too greedy."

"This was from the time of Elvhenan?" Nimwen looked like she wanted to examine the staff further, but refrained.

"I can't believe something that old still exists," Milliel said.

Dirthamen looked at her in the same moment Solas did. "Pardon?" Solas asked.

"That's not what she meant, Solas. Though, you do look like you could take another twenty century long nap," Dirthamen teased.

"Dirthamen," Solas half scolded, half scowled.

"Oh, crap, that came out wrong didn't it?" Milliel asked, face red. " _Ir abelas_ , I didn't mean to offend."

"None taken, Milliel." Dirthamen gave her a bow before he turned to add more snow to that which had melted in the kettle.

Solas, on the other hand, shifted a little. "Dirthamen, _do you know_ -?" he started to ask in elvish.

" _It isn't something you need to worry about,_ Solas. _And we are doing them a disservice speaking in elvish_."

" _You two seem to forget I can understand you_ ," Nimwen spoke up.

"Then we are all three doing Milliel a disservice," Dirthamen corrected in common.

"Agreed," said Nimwen.

"Now, I feel left out," Milliel pouted.

Solas sighed. "I will ask later, then."

"You want us to be alone, hmm." Dirthamen nestled the kettle in a pocket he had made closer to the fire. He was careful to move it with a stick only because he knew Nimwen would start scolding him if he didn't. "It will take a little for the water to warm." He straightened.

"We have time," Nimwen said. "Lori is spending time with Deshanna. She's probably trying to give her a history lecture," she chuckled.

Dirthamen chuckled. He started pouring some of the tea leaves into a bag so that it could steep while the water heated. "Perhaps she is." Once done with getting the bag into the kettle he leaned back and pulled out the start of a stuffed animal. Right then it looked like an inside out flat, toy animal. "There was a matter I wanted to ask you and Solas as it is. As well as run by Milliel." He smiled at Milliel, not needing to watch what he was doing with the needle and thread.

"What is that?" Milliel asked.

"The start of a stuffed animal," Dirthamen stated, knowing she meant what he was making not what he wanted to discuss.

He set down the outer shell on his leg and pulled out a completed one. It was a badger about the same size as a newborn elf. He had woven the fur into toy from soft furs dyed to appear the same blacks, whites, and grays as the living animal. Though, he might be wrong, the stuffed toy looked like a real, baby badger. The nose and paws of the badger were black leather, eyes made of a hard glass. The teeth, in the mouth which opened, were white leather while the tone was pink silk. Fuzz dotted the muzzle in a mimic of the sort whiskers around a badger's nose.

"This is one I've had done for awhile for Nimwen's and Solas's child." He smiled at Nimwen and passed it to her. "I started working on one for our child last night," he explained to Milliel. "I don't make a lot of stuffed toys," he continued, "they take a lot longer to make than a carving and aren't as durable. A carving can last several generations while a stuffed toy is lucky to make it through to the teen years of the child. But I don't give carvings to babies. They're too hard and, sometimes, too sharp."

"Oh, it's adorable," Nimwen smiled, stroking the toy's fur. "This was so kind of you, Mahvir. _Ma serannas_."

"You're quite welcome." Dirthamen pulled out the other toy for Nimwen's and Solas's child.

This one was a raccoon with just as much detail as the badger placed into. It had been harder to make given the claws on a raccoon's paws and the longer whiskers. He held out to Nimwen.

"The second toy for the child," he chose his words carefully. "Just be certain Lorien doesn't see them. She might want to take them for herself." He picked back up the shell of the halla he was sowing.

"We will keep that in mind," Nimwen said. She showed them to Solas. "Aren't they precious, _vhenan_? And so lifelike."

Solas took one of them and looked it over with a careful eye. This time it wasn't to check if the toy was safe like he had done with Lorien's gifts. Instead, Dirthamen knew Solas was looking over the work of the toy.

"Over two months solid work each?" Solas asked.

Dirthamen bowed his head. "But toys aren't what I wanted to run by you three," he stated. He still worked on the halla despite keeping his eyes on Solas and Nimwen.

"What is it then?" asked Milliel.

"And watch what you're doing with that needle," Nimwen warned him.

Dirthamen smiled at Nimwen. "Oh, I am." Then his face straightened and stopped working. "I wanted to ask if you two would be fine with Milliel and I bonding before you did? As well as ask," - he looked at Milliel - "if you are fine with bonding in the next week or so. If we delay a month the clan will learn you're with child before we were bonded," he explained.

"Oh," Milliel blinked. "Well, I suppose that does make sense. It is rather sudden-though, granted, _everything_ has been a bit of a rush," she chuckled sheepishly.

"I have no problem with when it happens," said Nimwen. "I just want to make sure that this is what you both want. Milliel is right, this has all happened so quickly. I don't want you two to go headlong into something without thinking it through."

"I do believe it is too late for that, _vhenan_ ," Solas stated. To Dirthamen, he added, "You are aware of my opinion on this matter as it is."

"I am." Dirthamen bowed his head to Solas, knowing the older man meant in his eyes the moment Dirthamen and Milliel had slept together and conceived a child from their union, they were already a mated pair. It was the way it had been in Elvhenan. Granted, such ideals had never worked with the nobles as Dirthamen was harshly aware with his brother.

"I know what I'm doing," Milliel told her. "Onion gave me a chance to back out, but I decided not to, because honestly this _is_ what I wanted to do with my life-granted, maybe not in this particular order. I wanted a good man, I wanted kids, and now I'm getting both. And, besides," - she smiled at Dirthamen - "I can think of worse people to spend the rest of my life with."

Solas cocked an eyebrow.

Dirthamen smiled and bowed his head to Milliel. " _Ma serannas, ma sulahn'nehn_."

The kettle whistled.

Dirthamen replaced the halla in his bag and moved the kettle from the fireside with a stick. He pulled out three cups and wrapped the handle in cloth. He then poured three glasses of the strong, black tea.

"Here we are." Dirthamen lifted the first two glasses and held one out to Nimwen and one out to Milliel.

Solas eyed the tea almost wearily.

"But, Mahvir, you forgot Solas's cup," Nimwen teased. " _Vhenan,_ would you like a sip of mine?" she asked sweetly, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Very funny," Solas stated.

"I prefer my neck attached to my shoulders, my thanks, Nimwen," Dirthamen joked.

This only made Solas scowl. "Off this matter," Solas changed the subject, "I've noticed there are only three mages in the camp at any given time."

"Ah, that." Dirthamen took a sip of his tea. Warmth crept through his limbs. "Yes, you're correct. There are only three mages in the clan right now since you two arrived."

"But aren't there four?" Milliel asked. "Keeper Deshanna, Nimwen, Solas, and you."

"Hold on, what happened to Bevon?" Nimwen asked. "I thought he was made First after I left."

"That he was, but during the raiders' attacks he was killed," Dirthamen explained. "I received a few messages around that time from Alaula and Deshanna. Deshanna was asking if I knew of any elvhen in the allienages who would show magical talent or if I believed you could be convinced to return to the clan. Granted I didn't know you then." Dirthamen gave Nimwen a sad smile. "The clan lost many during those raids."

"Bevon is dead? I found it strange I hadn't seen him yet, but…" Nimwen grew quiet.

" _Ir abelas_ , I should have said something," Milliel apologized. "It happened almost three years ago, so it wasn't on my mind to say anything. Perhaps we should have mentioned it back then but, I don't know, you were running the Inquisition, had all those responsibilities. We didn't want you to worry. I didn't at least."

"Deshanna had split concerns: for your happiness and the future of the clan," Dirthamen explained. "That is why, in her letters to you, she never told you of Bevon's passing. She also didn't want to bring this matter to you while you're already stressed with everything happening since your return. But the thought of the clan's future is always on her mind. Nimwen, you are aware Deshanna never had children of her own. She views you and your brother as her own. She only wants you to be happy."

"And she wants me to be First." It wasn't a question.

Dirthamen bowed his head in confirmation. "But she won't ask you to return, Nimwen. She knows how happy you are in Kirkwall and your life has changed since she last saw you over three years ago. I won't lie, most of her and my conversations as late are concerning the future of the clan. If you don't stay," he hesitated. "Understand, I might be able to use time magic, but I am no mage. While I know enough on magic to train someone when the clan finds another mage after Deshanna's passing, it will leave the clan without a true keeper for years to come. By no means are you obligated to stay."

Solas shifted a little. His expression was unreadable. Yet, Dirthamen knew Solas had felt more at ease among the clan than he had back in Kirkwall. No matter his views on the Dalish and the history lost, there was something ingrained into both of them which made them feel more at home among their People than surrounded by humans, even elf-blooded humans sometimes held this sense unease.

"I, I don't know what to do," Nimwen admitted. "I love my people, and I would love nothing more than to take care of them and be with them. But my friends, I've made so many, and they are precious to me, and I know that once I'm keeper I'll most likely never see them again." Nimwen clutched the toy badger in her hand like an anchor. "This is… not an easy place to be in."

"You needn't make the decision now, Nimwen. It is a tough choice and one which only you can make. But know your ties to the outside would be of aid to your People. Your knowledge could help change the Dalish clans for the better." Dirthamen gave her a soft smile. "But it isn't an easy path to walk down."

"Ultimately it is your decision, _vhenan_ ," Solas added. "For now, focus on tomorrow's problems, not this one." Solas placed his hand on Nimwen's shoulder.

" _Ma serannas, ma lath_ ," Nimwen smiled. She took a sip of her tea. "Mhm, this is quite good. Sure you don't want some, Solas?"

Solas made a face. "Quite sure."


	9. Chapter 9

"Just one more and I'll be done."

Milliel hummed in acknowledgment. The feeling of her mother's fingers as they worked through her hair helped to soothe her frazzled nerves. Well, not all of them.

"There, done."

Though she sat behind her, through her mother's voice alone Milliel could see the grin on the older woman's face.

"Look, love. Aren't you just lovely?"

A mirror was thrust into Milliel's hands. The hand mirror was made of dull, worn bronze, with a large crack in the dull glass. It was the one thing her mother had taken with them when they first ran away from their old lives. Most would have thrown out the broken thing, but Henala Suren Lavellan was nothing if not a hoarder.

Milliel lifted the mirror. Her hair was pulled away from her face, for once allowing her orange _vallaslin_ to be seen. Twin braids crowned her head and linked to one which fell down her now wavy hair. Amidst her locks were daisies woven like a circlet, the white petals standing out against the red. "It looks great, mum."

"Oh, thank goodness."

Milliel turned around, concerned at the choke in her mother's voice. "Mum?"

Henala's eyes, the same green as her daughter's, were watery. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear," she chuckled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Sooo… why are you crying?"

Henala smiled. " _Because_ everything's all right." The older elf gather Milliel into a hug. "I never thought this day would come. Just yesterday you were still in pigtails playing with dirt, and now you are to be married." She took Milliel's hands and stood her up. "Not only that, but here you are dressed as what our ancestors must have looked like."

Milliel's dress was finer than any she had ever seen before. Made of a pale green silken cloth, it had no sleeves, but a sheer cape collared to her neck that exposed her shoulders. Fennic fur trimmed the top and the train, and the cape was secured by a brooch carved of elmswood.

"I can't believe you made this for me," Milliel said, turning to examine herself in the gown.

"Your father had been a tailor, he taught me a few things before he passed," Henala explained. "He would have haunted me for sure if I'd let you get married in peasant's clothes or hunting leathers." Henala herself was also dressed for the occasion. She wore one of her finer dresses, and she for once tamed her frizzy hair, the greying red locks tied into a messy bun.

At the mention of her father, Milliel frowned. "I wish papa could be here."

"Your father is with you right now," Henala assured her. "My Torin could never pass on a wedding, and Maker forbid death keep his spirit from one."

Milliel smiled. " _Ma serannas,_ mum."

"Oh, that man of yours will loose his breath when he sees you, I'm certain of it."

Milliel chuckled. "I hope not, he needs to speak during the ceremony."

"Oh! Speaking of ceremony," Henala flittered across the _aravel_ to retrieve something from the chest. "We can forget this." Henala returned with the _eth'enansal_ and handed it to the huntress. "There, you're ready."

"Right, ready. Ready." Milliel's heart was pounding, but she was unsure if it was from excitement or fear.

"You're going to be fine," said Henala. "I remember feeling the same way when I was marrying your father. The butterflies, feeling like I was going to faint. Or puke. Or both." Henala chuckled. "But the moment I saw your father standing in his brother's suit, I felt it all melt away."

Milliel sighed. "If you say so, mum."

"I know so." The older elf linked arms with her daughter. "Now, let's get going shall we? A bride can't be late to her wedding."

Milliel took in a deep breath. "All right. But catch me if I faint."

* ~ x ~ *

Dirthamen didn't move. He was in Nimwen's and Sola's _aravel_ sitting on Nimwen's bed while she brushed the knots from his hair. " _Ir abelas_ , Nimwen. I promise I tried to get some out last night, but I don't own a brush," he confessed.

"I gave you one before you left last time, Papa," Alaula piped up from where she had been digging through Dirthamen's bag. "Don't tell me you gave it to someone else."

Dirthamen didn't reply.

"Papa, honestly." Alaula sighed.

"Am I the only one in this family who doesn't have messy hair?" Nimwen asked as she worked at a particularly nasty knot. "I swear I had an easier time doing Lori's hair," she sighed.

"My hair pretty!" Lori giggled, wagging her fishtail braid back and forth. "Lookit, Lala!"

Alaula giggled. "You do look pretty, _da'len_. Your hair especially." She looked back at Dirthamen's bag. To Nimwen she said, "I am going to be 'part of this family,' soon enough. And, last I checked, my hair isn't a rat's nest."

"Well thank goodness for small miracles," Nimwen smirked. "Speaking of small miracles, I can't believe I managed to convince Sinderon to actually dress up. He hates wearing anything but his hunting clothes."

"I really hate your bag, papa. It never gives me what I'm looking- Found it!" she exclaimed as she pulled out a set of armor. "I knew you hadn't gotten rid of it." She spread it out next to Lorien.

Dirthamen felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes locked on the armor. It looked close to what Solas's ancient armor but without the cloth on the shoulders. The armor was tinted gold and a fine, silk cape wove around the arms in a green-gold color. More of the same cloth could be seen from the belt. It was of extremely fine make and had been crafted for him after becoming Andraste's champion.

"This is beautiful," Nimwen gasped, peering at the armor. "When did you wear this?"

"During the war with the Imperium," Dirthamen whispered, still staring at the armor. "The helm was wrecked in the ambush." The only reason he still had the armor was because he hadn't been wearing it. Andraste had joked and placed his helm on his head, saying just incase he fell off the horse. Which hadn't happened.

"It's perfect," Nimwen smiled. "Good thinking, Alaula."

"That's what I'm here for," Alaula said with a hint of pride. She wiggled her nose a little.

The door opened and Solas stepped in. There was a look of deep thought on his face. It was an almost troubled look as if he were debating something which would cause a slight sourness to fall over them before the bonding.

"Solas?" Nimwen stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress. "Is everything alright, _vhenan_?"

" _Ir abelas, vhenan_." Solas managed a small smile then turned to Dirthamen. "I remembered a promise I made," - he took a deep almost shuddering breath - "I made to my mother before she was killed by the _Banal'ras Sa_."

Dirthamen frowned. He had no knowledge of his grandmother. She had been killed when Solas and Elgar'nan had been little. For that matter, all his sight was clouded when it came to her and his grandfather, especially his grandfather. There was old magic involved within the reason he couldn't see it. A secret even he couldn't know. One his grandmother had taken with her to her grave, whispering the knowledge of it to only Solas.

"Your mother?" Nimwen repeated. "What promise is this, Solas?"

Solas took another deep breath and glanced at those in the _aravel_. "What is about to revealed can never leave here," he told Nimwen. "It's a secret kept from even my brother out of fear the _Banal'ras Sa_ would learn the truth. The knowledge," he paused, "I don't know how the People would react to it."

"Solas, what are you saying?" Nimwen took his hand. "Tell us, _ma lath_."

Dirthamen frowned. He couldn't place the pieces together.

Solas slipped his hand from Nimwen's and pulled an object from his bag. It was wrapped in many layers of tattered cloths. He started to unwrap the cloths. Light seemed to come from the crown which was revealed. It was a band of white gold twined together in an elegant pattern. White demons gleamed at the v-shaped head of the crown.

Dirthamen's eyes widened. "The Crown of Himinan," he whispered.

"'Himinan'?" Nimwen repeated. "What is that?"

"It's, he was the emperor of our empire before the _Banal'ras Sa_ came," Dirthamen's voice was soft. He still couldn't believe his eyes. "It was said his mate never bore any children and the line ended when he was slain by the ones now known as the Forgotten. Nothing remains of the empire. How-?"

"The _Banal'ras Sa?_ The Shadow Ones? Are they like the Forgotten Ones?" Nimwen asked.

"It so pretty!" Lori squealed, staring at the crown with wide eyes. "Daddy, I wear?"

"They are the Forgotten Ones, _vhenan_." Solas looked at Lorien. " _Ir abelas, da'vhenan_ , but no." He turned to Dirthamen. "My mother was Nalas the mate of Himinan. She told the People my brother and I were the children of another man. She feared our fates if the _Banal'ras Sa_ ever learned the truth and what my brother would do with such knowledge. She passed the crown to me before she died, telling me the truth of our birth and making me promise to pass the crown to my first born son as was our tradition during the time of _Elvhen'hamin_."

Dirthamen stared at Solas, ears ringing.

"You're saying that you were royalty? Not after the war but _before_?" Nimwen's eyes widened. " _Elvhen'hamin_ , was that another name for _Elvhenan_?"

"I was never royality before we fought for our freedom from the _Banal'ras Sa_ ," Solas stated, "I was born a slave, _vhenan_."

" _Elvhen'hamin_ was another empire entirely," Dirthamen managed to find his voice. "The cities of gold and light where magic shown. Places far more magical and ancient than even what we built in _Elvhenan_. Before the dwarves, before lyruim. Only stories told from the elders remained after the war and those were hushed."

Solas stepped forward and knelt down before Dirthamen. "I know I have a lot to make up for between us, Dirth, and passing this on, only increases a burden which has rested on our family since my father's passing, but I hope you will accept it." Solas held out the crown to Dirthamen. "It was my mother's wish to see the world of her childhood restored, where the emperor ruled just and all our People stood free."

"Pretty," Lori continued to stare at the crown. "It Mahvy's?"

"It is." Solas looked Dirthamen in the eye.

Dirthamen took the crown, hands shaking. He had believed Himinan's line had been destroyed. It was no wonder Solas's mother had told this only to Solas. She had named him to keep the pride of the elvhen after all.

" _Pass the crown of our father's father to your first born son until our glory is restored and the emperor's blood returns to the halls of gold_ ," Solas spoke what Dirthamen knew had to be the same words his mother had spoken to him.

Dirthamen bowed his head to his father.

"Perhaps Alaula and I should make sure the preparations for the ceremony are going all right," Nimwen suggested as she picked up Lori. She turned to Alaula. " _Lethallan_?"

Alaula was staring at Solas and Dirthamen with wide eyes then she snapped back at the sound of Nimwen's voice. "C-coming," she whispered before following Nimwen out of the _aravel_.

"Solas," Dirthamen started as he rewrapped the crown. " _Why now_?"

" _Perhaps because I was fool to think all the time with Mythal wouldn't have conceived one child. Perhaps because you have already done so much for the People_." Solas stood. " _Perhaps because these bondings are a moment for accepting the future_." He moved to where Alaula had placed the armor. " _Come, this armor looks too complex for one alone to get into_."

Dirthamen pulled himself to his feet and placed the crown into the bag. " _My sight can't see if your mother's wish will ever come to pass_ , Solas."

" _I don't believe any of us can make it so_." Solas helped Dirthamen into the armor. " _As a younger man, I was mad at my father for dying. For just giving us to the_ _Shadow Ones_. _I used to think, what sort of emperor just gives up and let's his kingdom and People be bound in centuries of slavery_?"

Dirthamen didn't move or speak. He knew where this was going and let Solas speak as his-his father tied the thin gauntlets to Dirthamen's wrists.

" _Then we became the nine rulers of our People. And eventually let the People see the nine of us as gods. I understood what decisions he must have faced_."

Dirthamen turned to Solas, struggling with his bad leg and the weight of armor, though it was a lighter set than most. " _Whatever decisions he made, whatever we've made, our People have made it this far_."

" _They have_ ," Solas agreed. " _And, though, this bonding still doesn't make sense, I am proud of you, Dirth._ " Solas placed his hand on Dirthamen's shoulder. " _I know I don't have the right to be your father, know I am proud you're my son. It just took me a long time to realize it_."

Dirthamen met his father's gaze. " _Ma serannas_ , _father_ ," he whispered. They had been speaking in elvish since the other three had left

" _Are you ready_?" Solas asked.

Dirthamen smiled. " _Are you_?"

Solas cocked an eyebrow. " _As far as I am concerned, you two are already mates_."

Dirthamen chuckled and picked up his cane. " _As I am aware_."

Solas left the _aravel_ first. Dirthamen followed, holding to the side of the door for as long as he could before he staggered to the ground. He gave Nimwen a soft smile before limping over to where the Keeper and clan _hahren_ stood.

Deshanna cocked an eyebrow at the sight of his armor and Dirthamen returned her look with a smile. He turned to wait for Milliel, heart less easy than it had been. When he had made these decisions he hadn't been aware of any of their true family's blood. There were dangers which lay ahead if any learned they weren't gods but rather the true royal family.

Milliel appeared from her mother's _aravel_. His eyes widened and all thoughts of his were swept aside. He had thought her pretty in armor, but she was breathtaking in a dress. The green suited her, making her eyes stand out as crisp and clear as leaves after a fresh rain. She truly looked like a red flower reaching up towards the spring sun's rays.

* ~ x ~ *

' _Creators, is that really him?'_ Milliel couldn't believe it. Mahvir stood next to the keeper and the _hahren_ in the most beautiful armor she'd ever seen. It made him look regal, sophisticated. His hair looked like it had been cut, the dark locks combed and styled. He looked like a knight from a fairytale, and Milliel was sure she was going to faint. Or puke. _'Keep it together, Milly. That good-luck hearthcake has to stay in your stomach to work.'_

She kept walking, her bare feet crunching snow beneath her. Her arms were folded, the _eth'enansal_ draped over her forearms. It was a good thing her hands were hidden, because they were shaking. She told herself to relax, to focus on the positives. She could see Henala next to Nimwen, smiling at her with the biggest grin she'd seen on her mother in a long time.

Then there was Mahvir. As she got closer, she noticed the look on the older elf's face. She couldn't describe it. She saw his eyes widen, but that couldn't have been because of her. Could it? The thought that she could elicit such an expression from him made her steps a bit more confident. _'Perhaps he's just as nervous as I am?'_ That thought made her smile.

She stopped when she was standing next to Mahvir. She turned to him, still smiling. He really was quite handsome. Nevermind that he was a tad skinny, or had the burns, the scars. Nevermind that when they first met he had been in rags. Today, he was her knight, her fairytale prince. _'My tall, dark, and handsome.'_

Mahvir smiled at her.

"This day we celebrate the bonding of two elvhen," _Hahren_ Theon started. "Such bondings speak of the devotion two of our People have to one another and ensure the continuation of the People to the next generation.

"On this day, Milliel Suren of Clan of Lavellan and Mahvir the Wandering Toymaker join together." The _hahren_ looked at Milliel.

Taking a breath, Milliel turned to Mahvir, and held out the _eth'enanste._ The blanket was woven with the depiction of halla, owls, hares, wolves, even dragons all frolicking within a meadow. Out of all the _eth'enansal_ she's secretly crafted, this one was her finest. "With this gift, made by my hand, I give you my love and protection, as I shall our blood to come." She draped the cloth across his shoulders. Then, praying she didn't make a mistake, she recited the vows. " _Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris_."Behind her she could hear her mother burst into tears, but she kept her focus on Mahvir, staring into his violet eyes.

"From the bow of a hunter, I've proven able to provide for you and our blood to come," Mahvir spoke as was tradition. Then he repeated the vow she had. " _Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris_."

Milliel felt her eyes mist as her mouth spread into a grin. How many times had she dreamed of this day as a little girl? Looking back, all of those fantasies combined couldn't compare to the real thing. The only thing missing were the swans carrying hearthcakes, but she could live without those.

"May Sylaise bless your children with safety and Mythal watch over you both," the _hahren_ concluded the ceremony.

The words were a sign they were officially bonded. Mahvir leaned towards her and kissed her.

Without thinking she wrapped her arms around his neck. She returned the kiss, emotions overwhelming.

He returned her embrace. When they broke apart, he was smiling at her, dark eyes soft. He took her hand in his and together they turned to the clan. He lifted their hands was tradition, to show they were bonded.

They were received with applause. Milliel could see her fellow hunters cheering her, among them Sinderon, who gave her that subtle smile of his. She saw Nimwen alternating between applauding, and comforting Henala who was in happy hysterics. Milliel was elated. She turned to Mahvir, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

"It really happened, didn't it?"

Mahvir smiled at her. "It did." His gaze flickered to where Solas stood, holding Lori.

"Yay, Mahvy an' Milly!" Lori yelled, waving at the couple.

Milliel laughed.

Mahvir chuckled, his chuckle turning lighter when Solas almost dropped Lori for the little girl hitting him in the face. Solas whispered something to Lori.

"Looking forward to that?" Milliel whispered in his ear.

"After Alaula and the others I've raised, I believe I am more than prepared," he whispered back.

"Mahvir." Deshanna stepped forward. She gave them a blessing before passing him his cane.

" _Ma serannas_ , Keeper." Mahvir bowed his head. To Milliel he said, "I do believe the clan wants their feast and hearthcakes."

"Food!" Milliel whooped. "I'm calling first pick of the meat."

Mahvir laughed. "I do believe you forgot you get first pick." He limped after her, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Just making sure," she smirked.

Soon music filled the cold, winter air. The clan broke into a day of celebrating which would last into the night. There was a space which had been cleared of ice and snow for dancing and couples had taken to it when Deshanna had told them this was the one time the newly bonded wouldn't take the first dance.

" _Ir abelas_ ," Mahvir apologized to Milliel. His eyes were sad as he looked at her.

"It's fine," Milliel assured him. "Honestly, I can't dance anyways. Or play an instrument. Or sing. Basically don't ask me to do anything musical."

He smiled. "Ah, so I will be alone in singing lullabies? I am certain you have a fine voice. Don't let our future children think you don't," his voice was completely serious.

Milliel scoffed. "Please, I sound like a drunken halla. Besides, you're the storyteller. I'll teach them how to use a bow."

"Who said I can't use a bow," Mahvir joked.

"The fact the only time I saw you do so, you shot an arrow only two inches and grazed your brother's foot," Solas stated as he joined them at their small fire.

"Ah, yes, but at least I got the string back as far as I did." Mahvir gave the stern man a smile.

"Then we shall teach them together," Milliel smiled. "Though, let's focus on the one baby we're going to have before we even think about having more."

The only response Mahvir had to this was a soft, almost knowing smile and bow of his head.

Solas let out a low breath before looking towards where Nimwen was. He moved off faster than one could blink in order to help her the last few feet to the fire with the food.

"You think he'll ever not fuss over her?" Milliel wondered as she ate another spoon of rabbit stew.

Mahvir cocked an eyebrow. "Are we talking about the same man?" he asked. "He will hover over her even afterwards. It's just him."

"Who knows? Maybe after kid number five he'll learn to relax a little."

Mahvir chuckled but didn't speak as Nimwen and Solas came back into earshot. Instead he stirred some of the soup. He had eaten only one bite since getting the bowl.

"Or maybe after grandkid number six he'll finally let off," Milliel chuckled. "Oh, well, at least she knows he cares."

Solas cocked an eyebrow at Milliel, then returned his attention to Nimwen. "At least let me carry Lori, _vhenan_. You don't need to carry her and the food."

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Solas, I once had to carry Dorian on my back while a dragon spat fire at me. I think I can carry Lori and a bowl of soup just fine."

"Plus, you only have a few more feet to go," Mahvir pointed out.

Solas scowled. "That is less than helpful."

"She's not going to trip."

"She might."

"And we're arguing." Mahvir gave Milliel a slight look which seemed to say "really? He's arguing with me about what will happen."

"Fine, fine, if it lets you sleep tonight," Nimwen sighed. She shifted to allow Solas to take Lori.

"Daddy," Lori grinned, hands stretched out.

Solas took the girl. " _Ma serannas, vhenan_." They made it the last few feet without fighting more over the matter.

Mahvir whispered in Milliel's ear, "I promise, I will never be that overbearing."

" _Ma serannas,_ Onion." Milliel kissed his cheek.

He turned the kiss into a kiss on the lips.

"Ewww, you no kiss brother," Lori pouted.

Mahvir chuckled and looked at Milliel. "May I?" he asked, hand touching her back.

She smiled. "You may."

He pulled her towards him, making her soup spill to the ground a little. His lips pressed into her just as passionate as the first kiss he had given her.

Lori made a dramatic gagging noise. "You two gross! Daddy, big brother yucky!"

It was then Milliel noticed a slight look of disapproval on Solas's face. "I do believe, this is why you two have an _aravel_ now," he stated.

"It's just a kiss, Solas," Nimwen spoke up. She shook her head. "You act as if they were being indecent."

Mahvir chuckled. "You're never going to get through to him, Nimwen. At this point, pray he remembers a kiss is part of the bonding."

Solas's ears went red.

Nimwen snickered. "Relax, _vhenan_. Teasing is a part of family."

"She's right," Milliel agreed. "And, Nimwen, since you are technically my mother-through-bonding now, prepare for the jokes to follow."

"I relish in the anticipation," Nimwen smirked.

Mahvir chuckled and looked at Nimwen. "Hows my brother or sister treating you, Nimwen?" he asked, voice between series and a little off.

"Aside from making me vomit, I've been well," Nimwen replied, a hand on her stomach. "Though, I wish this could be over soon so that I could be holding my baby instead of trying to hold in my dinner. Funny enough, as I was getting dressed I noticed I'm already starting to show. Strange," Nimwen mused.

"Stranger has happened in this family." Mahvir frowned. " _Ir abelas_ , that wasn't what I meant."

Solas's eyes narrowed as he set down Lori and gave her a bowl of soup. "Don't play with it, _da'vhenan_. The soup is for eating."

"Soup can be fun too," Lori retorted.

"Princess," Mahvir started, sounding patient. "Can you show me how to use a spoon? I seem to have forgotten."

Lori perked up. "You forgot?" she asked, sounding genuinely sorry for him. "It easy, you do like this!" She plunked her spoon down into the soup and shovelled the food into her mouth. "See?" she smiled, soup covering half her mouth.

Milliel giggled. "You are too good at that."

" _Ma serannas_ , Princess Lorien." Mahvir bowed his head before taking a small bite of his soup. "Can you continue to show me so I don't forget again?" he asked, voice polite, almost pleading. Yet, Milliel could hear the patients and love as well.

Nodding adamantly, the toddler continued to stuff her face.

"Thank you, Mahvir," Nimwen said. "It's been so nice seeing you with her again."

Mahvir bowed his head to Nimwen. "My thanks, Princess," he addressed Lori. "I'm certain I won't forget with you around to teach me."

Solas had an eyebrow cocked, but, for once, looked rather happy, or as happy as Milliel had ever seen the stern man get.

"This soup yummy. Eat it, daddy," Lori commanded, waving the spoon in front of Solas's face.

"I have my own bowl, _da'vhenan_ , but I will do as you ask." He picked up his bowl from where he had placed it by Lori's before going to help Nimwen.

Mahvir chuckled. "I'm pretty certain she wanted to feed you, Solas."

"The dragon go in the cave," Lori pouted.

Solas looked ready to say something but before he could, Alaula appeared, saying in drunken tones, "I found Sin, papa!" Sure enough, she was dragging Nimwen's brother behind her. He appeared slightly confused and slightly embarrassed to being dragged along by the drunk women, but his expression lightened up when he saw Lori and Nimwen.

"Hiya, Uncle Sin," Lori waved.

"Hello, Pretty Eyes."

Lori giggled. "I'm Pwetty Eyes," she told Mahvir.

"That you are, Princess," Mahvir agreed.

Alaula sat down on Mahvir's other side from Milliel, face and ears red.

Milliel could just hear what Mahvir whispered to her, "He would dance if you asked him, _da'len_. You didn't need to get drunk."

Her face turned an even dark shade of red.

"Just try." Mahvir placed his hand on Alaula's shoulder.

"S-Sinderon," Alaula started, sounding more than a little awkward. She stopped but continued when Mahvir nudged her. "W-would you like," she swallowed, "dance with me?" her voice was so small it was amazing anyone could hear it at all.

The tall elf blinked, then pointed to himself, as if confused by the idea she would want to dance with him.

Alaula made a small noise.

Mahvir sighed and nudged her again.

"If you wouldn't mind dancing with me," she mumbled. "Will you?" her amber eyes were now locked on the ground and she fumbled with leather of her hunting gear.

Sinderon appeared almost nervous, until Nimwen gave him a look of encouragement. He cleared his throat. "I can't dance."

Nimwen coughed loudly.

"But I'll try."

"I can't dance well either," Alaula babbled and, then, leapt to her feet. "You will!" She ran over to him and pulled him to his feet. The two of them vanished among the other dancers, visible now only by Sin's height.

"Well, that's a development," Milliel said.

Mahvir smiled. "I hope he realizes soon there have been several women in the clan interested in him before they're all taken."

"Wait, what?" Nimwen sputtered. "Interested? In Sinderon?"

"Perhaps, as your lover's son, I shouldn't have said such a thing about your brother." Mahvir rubbed the back of his head. He then shifted beside Milliel, she felt him flinch a little and heard a soft mutter about his leg going stiff. But only she could hear it.

She touched his hand, looking at him with concern.

Mahvir gave her a soft smile. "It's just the cold," he whispered, breath warm on her ear.

She felt herself blush, and hoped somebody would think she had just drank some wine. She hadn't, of course, and wouldn't for a while. That fact still had yet to settle with her. She made jokes sure, but the idea of being with child… Perhaps it was because she could not recall the events that led to this moment, or because she had yet to experience any of the symptoms currently plaguing Nimwen. In time, the idea of her as an expectant mother would cement in her mind. But tonight, she was just a bride, and was enjoying the moment.

"Daddy, daddy," Lori tugged on Solas shirt. "I dance!"

Solas set down his empty bowl. "Have you finished eating, _da'vhenan_?" he asked.

The toddler nodded. "Dance me, daddy?"

" _Vhenan_ , we'll return shortly." Solas stood and bowed to Lori. "Would you care for a dance, _da'vhenan_?"

Mahvir chuckled beside Milliel.

Lori grinned, bouncing on her heels. "Dance! Dance!"

"You'd better go before she pounds holes in the floor," Nimwen chuckled.

Solas swung Lori up into his arms and carried her over to the edge of the dance floor where they would be out of the way of other dancers. They could see him place Lori on his feet and start to dance with the toddler.

Nimwen sighed.

"Something the matter, _lethallan_?" asked Milliel.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm fine," Nimwen responded. "I was remembering the first time Solas and I danced." She smiled wistfully. "It was at Halamshiral. So much confusion and court nonsense, I didn't know how I'd survive the night. But, when it was all over, Solas and I danced alone on the balcony."

"That sounds so romantic," Milliel gushed.

"Our clothes were in tatters and covered in blood, not to mention that foolish hat of his ended up breaking and cutting him in the fight. But yes, it was pretty romantic," she chuckled.

Mahvir shifted, moving his bad leg a little. He didn't speak. Instead he kept his eyes on the dancers.

"They are so cute." Milliel smiled, looking at Solas and Lori. "I remember doing that with my father. He loved to dance, though I was horrible at it."

"I'm certain you were fine, _Sulahn'nehn_." Mahvir gave her a soft smile. He finished his food.

"Say, Mahvir, have you been eating well?" Nimwen asked. "I noticed you actually finished your food, for once."

"Between you and Deshanna, I don't stand much of a chance with getting away with no food," he stated.

"Count me in as well," Milliel smirked.

"Of course, my apologies, _Sulahn'nehn_." Mahvir gave her the most graceful of a bow she had ever seen a seated man give.

Milliel giggled, which then turned into a yawn.

Mahvir set down the bowl. His cane dug into the ground as he pulled himself to his feet. "It's getting late and been quite the day." He held out his hand to Milliel. "Shall we retire, my lady?"

"Sure," she replied, taking his hand. She turned to Nimwen. "Tell Solas and Lori I said good-night?"

"Of course."

"Right then." Milliel looked up at Mahvir. "Ready?"

He helped her to her feet. "I am."

Together they headed for the _aravel_ the clan had prepared for them. The inside of the _aravel_ was almost empty. On one of the beds, rested Mahvir's bag and the shelves held some of the items Milliel had owned.

The soft sound of Mahvir starting to enter behind Milliel filled the air.

"So…" Milliel chuckled nervously. "This is, going to be a lot different than living with mum."

"I would hope so," Mahvir joked. He took hold of the door with one hand, his cane just inside. He managed to pull himself the rest of the way into the _aravel_. The door tapped closed behind him.

Suddenly the lively mood of the celebration was bleeding out of Milliel, and all she felt were nerves. _'But why? What's changed?'_ Perhaps it was being alone with Mahvir in such close proximity to a bed. _'But we're bonded now? Why does it still feel odd?'_ Milliel stood there. _'What am I supposed to do now?'_ Her hands bunched the fabric of her skirt, if only to give them some purpose.

The light sound of Mahvir setting his cane against one of the beds filled the air. A soft light filled the _aravel_ as he lit one of the lamps. He flicked out the flame of the match. "If it isn't too much to ask," he started, "I believe both of us will need aid out of our formal wear."

Milliel squeaked. "Ah, yes, yes, th-that does make sense," she stammered, nervous smile on her face. "I-um. You wanna go first, or me? I don't really care I mean, whatever you want is fine by me, right?"

He placed one gloved finger on her lips. "Hush, you don't need to be nervous. I promise I will never push you to do anything which will make you feel uncomfortable."

"Nervous? Who's nervous?" Realizing it would do no good to lie, Milliel sighed. " _Ir abelas_ , I can't help it. This is rather new territory for me."

"Believe it or not, it is for me as well." Mahvir turned and started to get the cape off his armor. "I have clothes on under this. If you just aid with untying the armor, I can then turn away after helping get the zipper of your dress. We can sleep in separate beds if it makes you feel more comfortable."

"Here, I got this," Milliel. Her hands searched the armor for the ties holding it together. She more versed in armor than she was finery. "And I won't banish you to the other bed. We're bonded now, it's expected we sleep together." She found the first tie and started to undo it.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Mahvir said as she undid the last of the ties. He removed the armor to reveal he hadn't been lying about being dressed under it. He turned to her. His hand soft against her face despite the roughness of his scarred flesh.

She cupped her hand around his. His skin felt like calluses, dry beneath her fingers. Yet, she didn't mind, even as she leaned into his touch. _'He has such pretty eyes,'_ she thought to herself as she gazed at his violet irises. She'd never seen eyes like his, not only their color, but at the wisdom in them, the kindness. He really was like a knight, like a god. "What do you even see in me?" Her eyes widened when she realized she'd spoken aloud.

A soft smile graced his features. He limped around her, using the bed for aid. "You are a beautiful spring flower ever reaching for the warm rays of the sun." His voice was soft, warm and loving.

She could feel his hands on her back.

"Your delicate elegance is matched only by your heart and strength." His finger ran down her arm in a gentle caress. "Your petals spread in a warm, welcoming array of light." His hand moved as he started to unweave the flowers from her hair. "A crimson rose pales in beauty and grace compared to you."

Milliel's face felt aflamed. He spoke like he was reciting poetry, yet sounded so sincere she could only believe the words were his own. Upon their first encounter, Milliel had vowed to learn all there was to know of him. She was the huntress, and he her prey. Now, within the solitude of their _aravel,_ his hands in her hair and his words in her ears, she realized how wrong she was. _'I never captured you, did I? You captured me.'_

"You have a way with words." She smiled. "Your tongue is probably a better weapon than my bow."

Mahvir's hands were warm on her shoulders for a moment then she felt his lips grace her neck for as long as it took to draw breath. "Yet, even those words could never describe your beauty."

"Just as I could never describe how handsome you are," Milliel replied, feeling bold and a desire to be poetic too.

His hands were gentle, asking in a caress down her back and arm.

' _Come on, Milly, do something! You can't be the only one flustered!'_ Milliel undid the collar of her cape, letting the sheer fabric slip off her shoulders. "Mind helping me out of this thing?" she asked with a coy smile. "Mum spent twenty minutes getting me in this thing, and by myself I don't think I can escape."

He obeyed. As she felt the last claps undone of the short underdress, she also felt him start to pull away.

"Everything all right?" Milliel turned to face him. "I know I said I'm new at this, but you don't have to walk on eggshells either. Somebody has to be assertive in this relationship," she chuckled.

He smiled. "As you wish, _ma sulahn'nehn_." His touch was soft. He didn't have the physical strength to pull her to the bed but he did have the suggestive touch. And, before she knew it, he had guided her down onto him. His lips touched hers, arms wrapping around her shoulders. " _Theneras emma eth uth, emma lath_ ," his breath was warm as he whispered to her.

Milliel had a vague recollection of that phrase, but she couldn't quite remember where. Though it mattered little now. Here, in this moment, his words made her smile. " _Ma nuvenin_ ," she whispered. " _Ma lath_." Her lips met his.

* * *

 _Theneras emma eth uth, emma lath_ \- Dream with me safely forever, my love.  
 _Ma nuvenin_ \- As you wish

* * *

 **Flamewing:** Yeah, this chapter is the closest to M-rated we ever get, but since it's only suggested and not seen, it's still T. Anyway, Dirth is a romantic at heart…

Also, really sorry about the delay. I have a lot going on all at once right now and I kept forgetting I needed to update this story.


	10. Chapter 10

"For the last time, Solas, I can handle myself!"

"It's not about that," Solas shot back. He paused. "I know you're capable, I'm just worried."

"That's just code for: _'I don't think she can set foot outside without combusting.'_ " Nimwen retorted. Why did Solas have to be so difficult? All she wanted to do was take Lori on a walk like they always did, and here he was adamant she stay in camp.

" _Vhenan_ ," Solas started with a heavy sigh. "We don't know these woods. We don't know if there are humans nearby. We don't know if it's _safe_."

"Now you listen here," Nimwen hissed. "I did not survive an explosion, demons, a mountain falling on me, Orlesians, and a wannabe god just for you to treat me like glass!" Nimwen really wanted to smack Solas right now. Perhaps that was just the hormones.

" _Mamae,_ daddy, no fight," Lori spoke up.

"I realize you're not glass. And the fact you were pregnant with Lorien during the final fight," he trailed off looking pale. "I won't make the same mistake twice. You could have _lost_ her or been killed yourself. You're not glass, but you have to be careful, _lath_."

"Are you saying I'm not careful? You think I'm irresponsible? Huh?" Nimwen felt like a boiling kettle. "And don't you dare bring up Lori. I took care of myself and her all on my own. Where were you?!" Without waiting for his response, Nimwen picked up the toddler. "Come on, _da'len_ , we're taking our walk now."

"But daddy-"

"Daddy's not coming." Not even looking back, Nimwen stormed out of the _aravel._

She stomped away from camp, muttering angrily to herself. Where did Solas get off telling her what to do? It was her body, she knew it better than him, not to mention she was the experienced one when it came to pregnancy. "Stupid Solas," she grumbled.

" _Mamae_?"

Nimwen snapped out of her stupor. "I, yes, _da'len_?"

"You gonna make daddy go?"

"What?" Nimwen stopped walking. "What do you mean, _da'len_?" she asked as she set the girl down.

"You yell at daddy," Lori said quietly. "I no want him to go."

"Oh, sweetie." Nimwen stroked Lori's hair. "Lori, daddy isn't going anywhere. We just had an argument, that's all."

"I no like you yell."

Regret settled over Nimwen. She shouldn't have let Lori see her and Solas fight. "I don't like yelling either." She felt her eyes mist, but restrained herself. _'Damn these hormones.'_ Perhaps she was a bit harsh on Solas. She would apologize to him later. Now, though, she was going to prove to him that he worried over nothing. "Come, _da'len_ , let's walk and I'll see if you can tell me the names of the trees."

Lori smiled. "Okay, I get good!"

Nimwen chuckled. "We'll see." She took the toddler's hand and the two set off down the trail. There was a light coating of snow throughout the forest, sparkling under the morning sun. The crisp winter air soothed Nimwen's nerves, and she felt a tranquility she hadn't felt in a while. "What's that one, Lori?" she asked, pointing to a tree.

Lori giggled. "That pine, silly."

"Oh-ho, that one too easy for you?" Nimwen winked.

"I smart."

"Yes you are. But let's see if you can guess…" Nimwen's eyes scanned the forest, looking for a new target. She spotted one, and pointed. "That one?"

Lori's brow furrowed, her seed shaped eyes narrowing as she concentrated. "That, um…" Toddler made a frustrated noise.

Nimwen smirked. "Give up?"

"No, I know!" Lori pouted. She stared at the tree with a look of concentration that reminded Nimwen so much of Solas, it made her smile.

Just as she was about to ask Lori again if she gave up, the girl gasped. "I know!"

"All right, what is it, _da'len_?"

"Bitch!"

Nimwen sputtered. "What?!"

"It's a bitch." Lori grinned proudly.

"No, no, _da'len_. _Birch_. It's a birch tree."

"I say that, bitch."

Nimwen groaned, palming her forehead. "Sweetie, it's birch."

"Bitch."

"Goodness gracious."

Lori blinked. "What wrong, _mamae_?" she asked innocently.

"Oh, it's nothing." _'Except now I'm going to train you until you say birch.'_ "Let's keep walking, shall we?"

"But I get right though?"

"Eh, close enough."

"Yay, I right." Lori clapped.

A glint of gold flashed through the trees. So fast it was gone in a blink of the eye.

"What that?" Lori asked.

"I think that was a fox," Nimwen replied. "Or maybe a fennic?"

"Foxey!" Lori squealed.

"Oh, no, you already have Nummy," Nimwen reminded her.

"But Nummy need friend," Lori insisted.

"You're his friend, _da'len_. And nugs don't like foxes." _'Especially since they tend to eat nugs.'_

"Fiiiine," Lori groaned.

The two elves continued on their walk. Fortunately they didn't have another 'birch' incident, and Nimwen found to her amazement that Lori could recall almost all the trees she'd taught her about. It filled her with a sense of pride knowing that her lessons stuck with her daughter. Before they passed, Nimwen's parents taught her many things, and Keeper Deshanna taught even more after that. She was glad that she too could enrich Lori with knowledge at such a young age, even if it was simply the names of the trees.

A rustle from the bushes caught Nimwen's attention.

"What that?" Lori asked. "Foxey?"

A flash of familiar black hair caught Nimwen's eye. The next moment she could just make the movement of a familiar elf, stumbling out of the bushes.

She raised a brow. "Mahvir? What are you doing here?" Suddenly an idea struck her. "Don't tell me Solas sent you to spy on me."

Mahvir didn't reply only moved a little. It looked as if he were looking for something he had dropped in the fine dusting of snow. " _Fenedhis_ ," he muttered.

"Hi, Mahvy," Lori waved.

"What's wrong, Mahvir?" Nimwen asked. She and Lori approached the other elf. "Did you lose something? Did you drop your cane?"

The moment she was around the bush, she saw he wasn't in rags. The elf leapt to his feet and took hold of Nimwen with a grip far too strong to be Mahvir. Eyes the color of the sun gleamed. A sneer curled his lips from under a golden mask which mimicked the skull of a dead man. The scarred flesh under his eyes pulled with the sneer.

"Grab the toddler!" he called, voice stronger than Mahvir's but holding the same subtle sounds as the other elf.

He roughly turned Nimwen, golden claws digging into her skin.

"No!" Senses heightened for battle, Nimwen acted. She encased her leg in ice, then kicked her assailant's knee with her full strength. "Let go!"

Her leg slammed into a magical barrier.

Three others dropped from the trees, making to surround Lori.

The one which held Nimwen bound her arms and pulled her towards him. His long finger moved down her jaw, the tip of a golden talon tickled flesh. "My, aren't you the feisty one," his voice dropped to a whisper, " _aunt_." She could feel the the cold of his golden mask touching her cheek.

She shuddered, but her focus was on Lori. "Get away from her!"

" _M-mamae_?" Lori whimpered, staring at the three fearfully.

"Get the kid now!" the elf barked. He turned Nimwen. "Remember, our prophet can never return without all the pieces!"

Using all her concentration, Nimwen tried to summon Pull of the Rift to drag the attackers away from Lori. She didn't have Shockmaw, she didn't even have her hands, and in the end she could only stop their steps. "Lori, listen," Nimwen said through gritted teeth. "You need to run."

Lori's eyes widened. "B-but-"

"Get back to camp."

"What is this?" one of the thugs snapped. He struggled against Nimwen's magic, and almost broke free.

Nimwen redoubled her efforts, feeling her mana waning from the strain. "The camp is east," Nimwen panted. "Remember that, Lori. Now, go!"

Tears spilled down the toddler's cheeks. "But, _mamae_ -"

"Please." Nimwen smiled, even though she could feel her own tears. "Go get daddy, please, _da'len_?"

"I think this thing's breaking!" another henchman called.

Lori cried harder. " _Mamae…!_ "

"Go, Lorien!" Nimwen begged. "I can't hold them, now go!"

It was as if Lori were snapped from a dream. The toddler took off into the trees.

Nimwen released her spell, and with her remaining mana, created another. _'I love you, Lori.'_ With a cry, she summoned a massive ice wall.

Before they knew what was coming, the trio of goons crashed into the ice. Their cries of shock and pain brought Nimwen satisfaction. They would have to find another way around it. She'd given her daughter a head start, and Lori was already fast.

' _Please be enough.'_ Nimwen slumped under the effort to maintain the wall. Only her captor kept her on her feet.

"You imbeciles!" her captor lifted his hand. Flames raced out and engulfed the wall. "After that child!" He forced Nimwen around and dragged her forward.

The ground changed from ice to stone as she was forced through an eluvian. The stone soon was replaced by an even deeper cold than the place she had been before. It was a familiar, biting cold of the high Frostback Mountains.

The elf dropped her to her knees. Her captor still held her shoulders. Talons bit through her cloths with the force of his hold. She heard the soft sound of a cane. Then felt the harsh metal tap at her jaw. She was forced to look up into a face which almost mirrored Solas's. Long, faded gold hair framed the elf's features. His nose was narrow and eyes a burning amber, sticking out in the darkness. But his features were sickly pale, his body appearing weaker and thinner than even Mahvir.

"So, this is my brother's lover. You've done well, Falon'Din, my son."

Falon'Din? _Son?_ That could only mean- "Elgar'nan?" Nimwen's spoke barely above a whisper, voice constricted by shock.

"The toddler escaped, father," Falon'Din spoke in tones far softer than in the woods.

"No matter." Elgar'nan tapped Nimwen's cheek with the metal cane. "Solas will bring her to us. My brother will feel the torment he placed us through."

"And the insect?" Falon'Din's grip tightened on Nimwen's shoulders.

"The bastard son of Mythal and Solas will fall by your scythe."

"My thanks, father." Even as he said this his voice snagged a little. Falon'Din pulled Nimwen to her feet. "You there!" he barked to a figure who had been standing low in the shadows. "Healer." He shoved Nimwen towards the figure. "You know your job, do it!"

The figure scrambled back, chains clanked with his movement, and bowed. "M'lord," he stammered.

Elgar'nan made a growling sound and slammed his cane in the man's back.

The man fell into a crumpled heap on the ground, whimpering.

"Feed her, keep her healthy, do everything to make certain she carries to term," snarled Elgar'nan. The air heated with rage. "Go, you pathetic mortal."

The figure scrambled to his feet and raced down the hall before Falon'Din and Nimwen.

"Why are you here?" Nimwen demanded. "What do you want from me and my family? Answer me, you bastards!"

Falon'Din ignored her. He shoved her down the cold hall. One hand held to her bindings. She could hear the echo of Elgar'nan's cane as he followed at a slower pace than his son set.

The man Elgar'nan had beaten stood, hunched and shivering as he held a door for Falon'Din.

"In." Falon'Din shoved Nimwen before turning. With his free hand he took hold of the other man and tossed him in first. The ropes loosened but she could feel something else pressed onto her wrists. The next moment, Nimwen was on the cold stone floor. The door slammed shut and the sound a lock clicking filled the air.

"Wait!"

Enraged, Nimwen summoned her mana, ready to blast the door down with ice. She thrust her hands out, but nothing came.

"Wh-what?"

She tried again, but nothing. It was like she wasn't even trying.

"Go!"

Nothing.

"Do it, ice!"

Nothing.

"What is going on-?"

Her eyes widened. The manacles around her wrists glowed a faint blue, the light dying as she stopped using mana.

"No."

She tried again. The manacles glowed blue. No ice.

"No."

They'd taken her magic. The manacles were absorbing her mana, cancelling her spells before she even cast them.

She banged on the door. "Let me out!" she screamed. She pounded the door. "You can't do this! Let. Me. Out!"

Her hand was going numb with pain, and her silverite one had paint from the door chipped on it. She kept pounding and scratching, desperate to escape. She had to leave. She had to leave!

"Let me out!" she screeched.

* * *

 **Flamewing:** So, half of the cat is out of the bag, er, characters, I mean characters. I write Elgar'nan and Falon'Din as well as the healer Nimwen was thrown into the room with and one other character who will appear a little later.


	11. Chapter 11

Solas moved out of the _aravel_ after Nimwen. A hand stopped him from moving into the woods after her. He turned to see Deshanna.

"She needs some space," the keeper stated. "Give it to her."

He turned back towards where Nimwen had vanished into the woods. His heart uneasy. There was no reply he could give the keeper other than he wanted to go after his love and daughter. Instead, he stood there, eyes locked on the forest until he felt the keeper's hand leave his shoulder.

A long moment passed. Solas remained standing there unmoving. Then his gaze fell over Dirthamen as the other elf almost tripped on his way out of the _aravel_. Even from here Solas could hear the muttering his son gave.

If anyone knew what was happening with Nimwen it was Dirthamen.

Solas strode over to his son.

"She's fine right now," Dirthamen stated without even turning to Solas. "Just walking with Lorien and talking about trees." Dirthamen rubbed his leg. "Storms coming," he muttered, "big one."

"Will she be fine?" Solas pressed.

"That," Dirthamen stopped and frowned. "I don't know. My vision just cuts off. Something is blocking my abilities." There was a worried look now in Dirthamen's eyes.

That was all Solas needed to hear. He took off, racing into the woods.

"Solas!"

The next moment Dirthamen was standing before him. Solas skidded to a stop before he would have crashed headlong into his son.

"It could just be a break in my vision. I don't know everything. She would never forgive you if you ran after her."

"She could be in danger. You said yourself you couldn't see what was going to happen," Solas hissed. "Out of my way!"

Dirthamen sighed. "In that case, we go together. This way you can tell Nimwen I was worried about her, not you."

Solas shifted. It was a good plan, but - Solas's gaze slid to Dirthamen's bad leg. Dirthamen's bad leg along with his lungs would mean they would be slowed. If Nimwen was in danger - Solas took a deep, shuddering breath. Nimwen was his heart, the only matter which made sense in this new world. She and Lori, alone, kept him sane. If she was in trouble. If she was-

"Solas," - Dirthamen placed his hand on Solas's shoulder - "it's a precaution."

Solas nodded. "Very well, you may come." He moved around Dirthamen and started off into the forest once more. It was agonizing to have to slow his pace to match Dirthamen's.

"There you are," Milliel sighed as she approached. "I've been looking for you. Mum wants to know what color you like and would leave me be 'til I ask."

More distractions. Nimwen could be hurt or worse! Why did Dirthamen's mate have to come to them now?!

"My apologies, _Sulahn'nehn_." Dirthamen stopped and turned to Milliel. "Perhaps we can discuss this on the way." He tilted his head towards Solas. "We're a little worried about Nimwen," he explained.

At least Dirthamen had kept to the word of making it seem he was the one worried, not Solas. Well, sort of kept to his word. "We're" implied both of them were worried.

"Hold on, what's wrong with Nimwen?" Milliel asked. "If she's in trouble don't think I'm not coming."

Dirthamen chuckled. "I did say discuss the matter 'on the way.'"

Solas turned and continued on. He wasn't waiting for those two to have a complete conversation. Nimwen. His heart, his love. Worry flickered through as sharp as any blade against flesh.

"Go with him." Solas could just hear Dirthamen urge Milliel. "I will catch up."

Snow crunched as Milliel jogged up to Solas. "So what's going on?" asked the redhead.

"Dirthamen stated his sight cut off with Nimwen," Solas stated. That was all he said as he continued on. Nimwen.

"You think she's in danger?" Milliel pulled her bow from her back.

"I do." Though, that wasn't the truth. It was what Solas's heart felt. He should have just gone with her in the first place, not let Deshanna stop him or pause for Dirthamen or any of it.

"Well, let's find her first. I know you're worried, but even alone in the woods, Nim can handle herself. Always has."

Solas grunted. Silence fell between them. A half mile fell away in silence. Then - a soft sound echoed through the silent, winter woods to Solas.

He held up his hand as he drew to a stop. He listened. It was the sound of humans crushing in their clumsy way through the woods. Their boots crunched through the snow in hot pursuit of another noise, so soft he could only make it out because his hearing had always been better than average. It was the sound of a smaller feet, tumbling and stumbling through the snow. The sound of toddler!

"Lori!" Solas bolted forward. He raced towards the sound of his daughter.

"Wait!" He heard Milliel run after him.

Solas ignored the girl as he kept running forward. His daughter was in danger. The sound of snapping twigs made Solas skid to a stop. Something crashed out of the bushes. His eyes widened.

No!

Lori stumbled. Her breaths came in short, wheezing gasps. Her once clean dress hung from her in tatters. Mud caked the side of her head. Angry, red scratches marred her face, arms, and legs. Bloody footprints followed the toddler as she limped forward. Her gaze found Solas. Her eyes were wide, terrified. She did not call her father's name. Instead, the child let out a desperate wail.

Humans emerged from the forest.

Solas raced forward. He scooped Lori into his arms, hiding her face in the soft furs of his robes. "Away from her!" His eyes burned. Rage scorched his veins.

The pursuers froze. Stone encased their bodies. Each locked in the moment they had emerged from the forest.

Solas sank to the ground, holding Lori close to him. He stroked her once soft hair now tangled with twigs and clumped ice.

"Mythal's mercy," Milliel gasped. "What-what did you do?"

Lori shook in his arms. She clung to him, whimpering incoherently.

Solas couldn't answer the girl. Nimwen was nowhere in sight. His heart. His love.

A soft purple light filled the space. The sound of a cane crunched against snow and Dirthamen appeared. He limped over to one of the frozen humans.

"You do realize, freezing them won't give answers, right?" Dirthamen's voice was almost scary in how calm he spoke.

Solas's gaze snapped to him. "You knew," he whispered, voice weak.

"Of course not. I told you I couldn't see what was happening." Dirthamen was moving around one of the frozen humans.

"What is going on?" Milliel demanded. She knelt beside Solas, staring at Lori with shock. "Oh, Creators, what did they do to you, _da'len_?"

Lori screeched when Milliel reached out to her. Without warning, the girl's teeth clamped down on the huntress' hand.

"Ow! Get her off!"

"Calm Lorien," Dirthamen told Solas as he stopped before the statue he had paced around.

Solas placed his hand on Lori's head. "Sleep, _da'vhenan_ ," he whispered, heart filled with pain. "When you wake the nightmare will have passed." A soft, green light came from his hand and he could feel his eyes burn with the magic. His own magic this time, not Mythal's.

"What did they do?" a teary Milliel asked, clutching her hand. "Poor _da'len_. Where is Nimwen?"

"We'll soon find out." Dirthamen lifted his hand. His eyes started to give off a purple light.

Time reversed itself around the human. Stone melted from flesh. The human collapsed into the snow, gasping.

"What the-?!"

Dirthamen was over the man in a heartbeat. His thumb pressed to the human's forehead. "You will tell me everything, quick child."

The human's eyes reflected Dirthamen's, glowing the same dark purple. Blood trickled from the man's eyes. His mouth opened and a scream pierced the air. Dirthamen and the man were locked in a combat of wills. Dirthamen's mind overtaking the younger, frailer mind of the human. Solas knew all too well what was happening. Dirthamen was ripping every shred of knowledge from the human, questioning him through time and space itself.

"What are you doing?!" Milliel stared at the scene in horror.

"He wasn't called Dirthamen just because it fit with his birth name," Solas stated. He looked down at Lori, grateful his little heart wouldn't see the darker part of her brother's abilities. "He's ripping secrets from the human's mind."

"Oh my…" Milliel's voice shook. She put a hand over her mouth.

The human collapsed. Blood pooled around him, staining the snow.

Dirthamen staggered back. His bad leg crumbled under him and he collapsed, breathing hard. His hand over his eyes. "She's in the Frostback Mountains. A fortress deep in the tundra," he whispered.

Solas stood. "I'm going after her. Tell me everything, Dirth."

For a moment Dirthamen didn't speak or move. Then he pulled himself back to his feet and turned to face Solas. "You can't storm a fortress alone, Solas. You've yet to recover your full strength after twenty centuries in slumber. Even if you had your full strength you wouldn't be able to. You need help."

"Then you storm it!" Solas snapped. "You could get her out in less time than I can draw a breath." He settled Lori on the ground, wrapped in the furs he'd removed from his robes. He moved until he was glaring right into Dirthamen's eyes. "You could get her back."

"In theory, yes, but it wouldn't be storming and when I got to where she's held in the keep I would have no way to get through the door. There are powerful spells around it. And, as you are well aware, I am no mage."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the woods. Dirthamen collapsed into a heap of rags on the snowy ground. Solas's hand had gone numb

"Mahvir!" Milliel ran to Dirthamen's side.

"It's your fault she was taken in the first place!" Solas screamed in rage. "You're supposed to see everything. Know everything!"

Dirthamen looked up. Blood trickling from a deep gash under his eye. "Lorien will be safer with the clan, but she needs her father. You can't leave her," he stated in even tones.

Solas snarled. He glared down at the couple.

"Solas, the Clan is Nimwen's family as much as you are. They can help."

Solas turned. He didn't want to look at Dirthamen anymore. "Fine." He moved back over to where Lori lay and picked up his daughter. He growled at Dirthamen in elvish, " _All this is still your fault. Stay away from Lori_."

"Shut up," Milliel snapped. She glowered at Solas. "Instead of blaming Mahvir, why don't you point your anger at the people who took Nimwen and hurt your daughter! And if you ever lay a hand on _ma lath_ again." Her hand clutched her bow. "I'll make you pay. Don't think I won't. Nimwen was my sister long before she became your mate, and you won't receive special treatment from me." Despite being witness to the power he held, the huntress glared him down as if she truly believed she could cause him harm.

Solas turned, eyes narrowed and burning.

"Solas!" Dirthamen was between Solas and Milliel. His eyes narrowed, but no sign of his powers being used other to move between them. "Take Lorien to the keeper and healer."

Solas scowled and moved away.

He could just hear Dirthamen continue to Milliel, "He's upset, Milliel. It's easier for him to blame my faults because I'm here. It will pass in time."

Solas's scowl deepened. Then, he looked at Lori, sleeping within the furs. His scowl melted away, replaced by worry for his daughter. He couldn't just leave Lori. Perhaps Dirthamen was right and the clan could help.

* ~ x ~ *

Sinderon ran fast as he could. He'd barely let Milliel finish before he took off for the healer's. A fear like no other wracked him. _'Sister, Lori…'_ He barged into the healer's _aravel_ with no warning. He moved into the overnight section of the _aravel_. His eyes quickly locked onto the two occupants.

"Lori." He knelt beside the bed holding his niece. His mind screamed when he saw the cuts and the finger-shaped bruises on her arm. He looked to Solas, desperate for an explanation.

Solas didn't look away from Lori. His long fingers stroked his daughter's forehead, eyes dull and pained.

"What happened?" The other's man silence made Sinderon's worry grow. "Where is my sister?" the hunter demanded.

"Dirth," Solas started then switched names, "Speak with Mahvir if you want answers." His voice was soft and he didn't look away from Lori.

Sinderon fumed. "Tell me, now," he growled. A small groan snapped his attention. He looked down and saw his niece's brow furrow, eyes still closed.

Solas kept rubbing her forehead with his thumb. The motion rhythmic and smoothing. "All I know is she was taken by a group of humans. Dirth-Mahvir," he corrected himself again, "is speaking with the keeper now." His voice was dull, almost broken in the way he spoke.

Sinderon heard him, but his eyes were on Lori. She made a small whimper as she slowly opened her eyes. For a moment she looked back and forth between the two men, eyes glazed over. Suddenly her eyes grew wide and she started to sob.

"Hush, _da'vhenan_. You're safe." Solas soothed her hair. "I took care of the bad men chasing you. You're safe," while Solas sounded like he was trying to reassure Lori it also sounded like he was trying to reassure himself in the same moment.

Lori huddled close to her father, still crying.

"Pretty Eyes," Sinderon said. He tried patting her back in reassurance, but before his hand even touched her, she shrunk back. It felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He retracted his hand, eyes widening at the look of fear in her eyes as she clung to Solas's shirt.

"You're safe." Solas held her gently. "You're back with the clan. You're safe."

She buried her face in his chest, whimpering.

Solas closed his eyes, expression pained and broken. It was an expression Sinderon had never before seen on the man's face. He whispered to Lori in elvish. The words soft and gentle, calming.

The sound of a cane could be heard just outside. Mahvir came into sight. He stayed well back from Lori and Solas. "Sinderon, Deshanna is calling a meeting of the clan." He glanced towards Solas and Lori before he left.

Sinderon was torn. He didn't want to leave his niece; yet, she seemed to not want him there. "Lorien?" He tried making his voice as gentle as possible.

The snivelling girl looked at him, eyes still twinged with fear.

It broke Sinderon's heart to see her like this. What had happened to make his niece fear him so? "It's me, Pretty Eyes. Uncle Sin, remember?"

Lori stared at him.

To his dismay she teared up again, hugging Solas around the neck and hiding her face in his shoulder.

"You should go," Solas whispered. "The meeting could be important. You may return after."

All Sinderon could do was nod. Numb, he stood up. "Take care of her," he said quietly.

Solas nodded. His hand wrapped protectively around his daughter.

Sinderon left the _aravel_ and made his way to the center of camp. The scene of Lori flinching away from him played over and over in his head. It was made worse by the fact he still didn't know what happened to Nimwen. No way his sister would let harm come to her child without putting up a fight. If so…

Sinderon swallowed hard. He would find whoever did this and make them pay. He would skin them alive and hang them by their entrails, as a start. He wasn't going to lose anymore family, not without getting vengeance.

He could see the clan gathering around the keeper near the campfire. The keeper was flanked by the _hahren_ and Mahvir as she had been since Mahvir's return to the clan.

She stepped forward. "I've summoned the clan here with the most grievous of news. Nimwen," her voice broke a little, "has been kidnapped by a radical human cult. We have very little information about them other than where they took her." She paused, sad eyes sweeping over the clan. "I've come to ask for the clan's vote on if we should go to the Frostback Mountains to save her or not."

"Nimwen's a member of this clan!" a voice shouted suddenly. It was Alaula. The normally quiet elf was looking at the rest of the clan. "Not only that but she's with child. Our people are dying, we need every last member. We can't just leave her or the baby!"

The clan exchanged looks.

"We owe it to her! For what she's done for the world and for us. She could have let us all be killed by the bandits, but she sent an _army_ to protect us. We can't abandon her!" Alaula glared at the clan now.

"She is my sister," Sinderon spoke up. He strode to stand beside Alaula. "And she is your clanmate. Alaula is right that we owe her our lives, but even if we owed her no debt, we would still fight for her. Because she is a Lavellan, and her children are Lavellans. Those _shems_ took her, and wounded Lorien, my niece, your kin. Now, who wants to show those humans the wrath of the Dalish?"

Clan cheered at his words.

Only when the cheers died down did Deshanna speak again, "Get the camp ready to move out. We set out to find Nimwen." She turned Mahvir as the clan broke up to do as she asked.

The _hahren_ moved off with the clan, leaving the two to speak.

Sinderon approached the two. "Keeper," the hunter spoke up. "I must speak to the Toymaker."

Deshanna looked at him and nodded.

"The cultists, why would they want my sister?"

Mahvir frowned, eyes a little unfocused. "The man I questioned wasn't high enough to have that information," he started after a long moment. "It had something to do with the Maker and human belief. Other than this, I don't know."

"Lori, what did they do to her? She-she cowered from me, as if I were a stranger." Just thinking of it made his chest hurt.

"Lorien watched this group take her mother and ran her feet raw trying to escape from them. All I know is they managed to catch her a few times and she slipped from their grasps each time. She is frightened and traumatized. It was a lot for a three-year-old to go through. It will take time and effort on her family's part to see her through this." Mahvir placed his hand on Sinderon's arm. "Be patient with her. Show her you care for her and move carefully, but don't avoid her. She needs you."

Sinderon nodded. "Of course." He would. Until Nimwen was saved, he would ensure her daughter was in good hands. He wasn't going to let her down.

A soft smile appeared on Mahvir's face. "Good." He turned to Deshanna. "I will do what I can, Deshanna." He bowed his head and limped off.

Sinderon let out a sigh. "Keeper." He turned to the elder. "Why do these things happen to us?"

She placed her hands on his arms. "We cannot dwell on such things, _da'len_ ," said Deshanna. "Misfortune has always followed our people, but we are stronger for it. Nimwen too. She shall make it through this, and we will save her."

Sinderon bowed his head. "I hope you're right." _'Creators, please let her be right.'_

*~ x ~*

"She was such a bright child." Teren settled himself beside Dirthamen to watch the clan as they picked up the camp. "I fear what would have happened if you three hadn't gotten to her." Teren rubbed his eyes. Dark shadows were under his eyes. He buried his face in his heads. "Sweet Sylaise, give me the strength to help us on this road."

Dirthamen touched Teren's shoulder. "You are the best healer I know, Teren. I know you will be able to help Lorien."

" _Ma serannas_ , but right now, she just needs her father." Teren looked over the clan, his gaze almost hollow. "To think it's happening again. Our clan has been through enough hardship. Nimwen especially. Pray the creators are only giving us as much as we can take and no more."

"Try to get some rest, Teren. You're no use to the clan like this," Dirthamen urged, even knowing Teren wouldn't rest until Lorien was well enough to head back to the _aravel_ with Solas.

Teren gave a small smile. He stood. "I should return to work. There will a few minor injuries by the time the clan is on the move if I know anything." He moved off, not waiting for a response from Dirthamen.

"Such troubling times," Theon spoke up from where he had been sitting near to Dirthamen. "First a blight in Ferelden, then that terrible happenings in Kirkwall, the mage rebellion, a false god trying to take over the world, and now this." He let out a long breath and pulled a fur further over his shoulders.

"There has been happiness within it all as well," Dirthamen stated.

Theon eyed him. "For how much longer? If the mages rebelled, how long until the _shem_ turn their gazes upon us? I fear this latest event is just one in many pieces which will start to turn their gaze on the clans."

A shiver raced through Dirthamen. In a distant future, he could see what Theon spoke. The slaughter of countless elvhen at the one time the humans could strike them. Dirthamen closed his eyes and shoved the images away. It wasn't something he needed to focus on right now.

"Our People will endure," Dirthamen replied as he pulled himself to his feet.

"We have for centuries and lost everything in doing so."

"All but what truly matters. Our People still live. For as long as we live, there is always hope, _ma falon_."

Theon bowed his head. "Yes, you're right, of course. I suppose age is starting to get to me. I should listen to one who has seen more pain and life than I have." Theon smiled at Dirthamen. " _Ma serannas, ma falon_."

* * *

 **Flamewing:** Sad, but still… I love Theon! Okay, perhaps I shouldn't have shouted that ^^;


	12. Chapter 12

"Please, stop." A soft hand touched Nimwen's shoulder, light and gentle. "You're only going to hurt yourself."

Nimwen acted without thought. "Get away!" She turned and struck with her silverite fist. She backed herself against the door, panting.

Chains clinked moments before the sound of a body striking stone echoed through the room. The man's hood fell. Long, golden-blond hair fell around his face and the soft tap-tap of blood against stone filled the air. He reached up and touched his nose before turning his gaze on Nimwen. Familiar seed-shaped eyes locked onto her. His eyebrows were the same, almost stern shape as-as Solas's. His gaze just as pale of a gray-blue as Solas's.

The man touched his nose and looked at the blood on his hand. He blinked. Then he looked at her again. He didn't speak, his expression soft and filled with worry.

"Wh-what?" Nimwen stared, mouth agape. Nothing made sense. So much had happened this day, so many impossibilities were becoming reality. This was the last straw. "What is happening?" The mage slid to the floor, her head in her hands. "I don't understand." She looked up, almost expecting the man to disappear. He was still there. He wasn't Solas; yet, for all intents and purposes he was a spitting image of her love. It disturbed her almost as much as it confused her. The look on his face, coupled with the blood, made her suddenly feel remorse. " _Ir-ir abelas._ " she apologized. "I didn't mean to…"

He grinned at her. "No harm done." He then leapt to his feet. The chains around his ankles clicked from the movement. "Oh, I know what will help calm you. Tea! Tea helps everything!" He raced over towards the counter along one wall, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush.

Nimwen's eyes followed him, brow raised. "What?"

The strange elf turned and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, my apologies, I forgot. Yes, I forgot. I'm Inan." He grinned again, eyes closed and blood still trickling from his nose. "I'm to take care of you while you're here: cook, clean, heal, tend, care, bake; all of it."

"Um…" Something wasn't right. Whether it was paranoia from her situation, or instincts, Nimwen didn't trust him. "Why? I'm a prisoner, am I not?"

Inan tilted his head to one side. "We both are."

"So, why are they doing this? I'd think they would leave me in a cell to rot."

"Minds twisted and filled with anger towards the wolf who betrayed. Destroy him, torment him, feel the pain they did." Inan frowned. "Well, that's what I got from him anyway when he wants to be healed. The other, his hate is deeper, bristling against the world and the one with purple eyes." His frown deepened. "Someone he calls 'insect.'" He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. "They don't tell me a lot, sorry."

"It's all right." This Inan _seemed_ to be friendly enough, and the chains he wore showed he was in the same boat she was in. It still didn't mean that she was going to let her guard down. "So, do you know how long they plan to hold me here?"

Inan turned back to the counter and started to pull out several leaves. All of which Nimwen recognized as flavoring for a tea. There was even a mint leaf there. He started to grind the dried leaves together.

"Until twin hearts beat and draw first breaths." Inan continued to work his hands nimble with a practiced ease. He finished grinding the leaves and placed them into a sifter which fit into a tea pot. He placed it on the small stove which also acted to heat the room they were in.

The room wasn't large. It held the counter on the left side of the room next to the door with the stove beside it. There was a table and two chairs. A bed was tucked into the corner. Blankets were folded at the end of the bed and it looked unused. Near the stove there were a few, thin tattered blankets. A soft, cream colored cat napped there, eyes closed and paws tucked under its belly. It gave off a soft snoring sound every now and then.

The sight of it made a small smile appear on Nimwen's face. It reminded her of the time Cole tried to get the cats to play with cheese and mint. That felt like a lifetime ago, far away from this little room and the odd elf making tea. The smile was gone, pushed away when Nimwen remembered how she had to leave this place.

Inan hummed under his breath as he finished cleaning up the remains of the dried leaves from the counter. He then knelt down on the tattered blankets beside the cat.

"He a prisoner too?" Nimwen asked, attempting to be humorous.

"Yup, she is." Inan stroked the cat's back. "This is Butter. Butter, meet your new friend."

The cat opened one startling blue eye. She gave a soft sound of annoyance the man had woken her.

" _Aneth era,_ Butter," Nimwen waved.

The cat gave a soft snort, turned and curled up to sleep again, one paw over her nose.

"Butter, that's very rude of you!" Inan scolded the cat.

"It's fine." The sight of the man and his cat conjured images of Lori and Nummy. Her throat felt tight and she willed herself to remain stoic. _'Don't think about it,'_ Nimwen told herself. _'Lori is fine, Lori is fine.'_ She forced herself to repeat that in her head. The alternative was to painful to think about.

Inan looked at her. For a moment it looked as if he was going to speak then the soft whistle of the kettle filled the air. "Tea!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he leapt to his feet. He raced over to the kettle and pulled it off the stove.

He poured the tea into two cups and a saucer. He placed the saucer on the floor before Butter and handed a cup to Nimwen. He then took a sip of his cup.

"Hot!" His eyes watered and he jumped as if the tea had shocked him.

"Are you all right?" Nimwen rose to her feet and went over to him. "You should be careful."

He grinned. "It's not poisoned. Had to prove I don't poison people." His eyes still water. Then he lifted his free hand and passed his hand over his face. A soft golden glow came from his hand. When he hand fell away from his face, his eyes weren't watering. The swelling of his nose had gone. It revealed his nose as long and narrow, straight. It wasn't Solas's nose.

This was almost as surprising as his similarities to Solas, and raised more questions. "Who are you, exactly?" Nimwen asked. "What are you doing here, with them?"

The elf tilted his head to one side. "I'm Inan, I said that already." Then he frowned. "I confuse you? I look like someone you know, don't I?"

"Yes." Nimwen admitted. "Solas, does that name mean anything to you? Or," Nimwen took a breath, "Fen'Harel?"

For the first time since meeting him, Inan's gaze turned from soft or happy to pained. He turned away from Nimwen. "I know both," he stated. Even his voice had a different quality to it.

"How do you know him?" Nimwen asked, gently. She hated causing this man pain, but she needed answers. "Why do you look so much like him?"

Inan shook his head and turned back to her. "I look like him?" he asked, voice light once more.

"Very much so," she nodded. "You have his eyes, and his hair, or at least that's what I think. Lori certainly didn't get her hair color from my side of the family. No blondes there," she clarified.

Inan turned and started to pull out several items from one of the drawers. "I would like to make certain you or your children weren't harmed in the trip here," he stated, voice now withdrawn.

"Children?" Nimwen blinked. "What do you mean?"

"There are three hearts beating, the soft light of life pulsing. Two within the womb one without." Inan continued to gather a few healing herbs. She recognized elfroot among them.

"Twins." It just didn't seem real. "We're having twins?" _We're._ Her vision grew blurry. "No," her voice choked as the tears pearled in her eyes. "No, no, no, this isn't how it-it should have been. Solas-Solas should have been here too, so he could hear… twins." Nimwen wept into her hands. "I shouldn't be here. This isn't right. I-I'm supposed to be home, with Solas and Lori and Mahvir and Sin and-and," her voice caught. "My babies, they should be born in a place that's safe, with a family that loves them. Not-not this prison!" The grief was overwhelming, outmatched only by her guilt. "This is my fault. I should have stayed in camp, I should have listened to Solas." Remembering what she said to Solas, the last words she'd spoken to him, made her cry harder. "What was I thinking? I-I did this. I did this to myself, to my children, _ma vhenan_. It's all my fault!" she sobbed.

Inan was before her in a heartbeat. She felt the warmth of his hand on her forehead. "Hush, child," he whispered, voice soft and so very different from what she'd heard earlier. A soft, golden light filled the space before her eyes. "Hush. Rest away the shock and pain."

The light lulled Nimwen to sleep. She was dimly aware of a golden light wrapping around her. The ground was gone and within moments replaced by the bed.

"Sleep."

Sleep overtook her.

What felt like only heartbeats later, Nimwen woke to the sound of sizzling and the scent of bacon. There was a light tapping and a soft voice sung:

 _Bacon boil in gristle  
_ _Eggs simmer and bristle  
_ _Brown, brown all 'round  
_ _For breakfast come 'round_

 _Thyme and mime  
_ _Mutter in butter  
_ _For yum you're mine  
_ _To sumber a flutter_

 _Oh, bacon boil in gristle  
_ _Eggs, oh, simmer and bristle  
_ _For yum you're mine  
_ _And will be oh so fine_

The song was flurshed with the tapping of feet and the spatula against the pan.

Nimwen sat up, studying him as he cooked. She remembered what had happened before she fell asleep, every horrid emotion that tore through her. Yet, they weren't consuming her. It was as if they were ghosts. The sight of Inan singing away as he cooked was actually a comforting one. It reminded her of when she would cook Lori breakfast, and the sound of the toddler chanting away excited for food.

"What's cooking?" Nimwen asked, deciding to speak up.

"Breakfast!" he cheered as he spun on his heel. A pancake flipped in the pan before it landed and the pan was returned safely to the stove. He continued to hum the tune of the song under his breath.

Nimwen chuckled. She rose to her feet and walked towards him. "Need any help? I can't do tricks, but I'm all right in the kitchen."

Inan smiled. "Don't doubt that. Never doubted that. But, you see, I'm done cooking." Inan didn't turn as he tossed the pancake over his shoulder. It landed with a dull _flop_ on top of an extremely large stack on the counter. More food lined the counter in large portions: eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes.

Nimwen raised a brow. "Quite the feast, expecting guests?"

"Too much?" Inan frowned, looking almost crestfallen at the food. "Butter can take care of it in a heartbeat!" He gave Nimwen a large, beaming grin.

Butter gave an angry meow from her place on the tatter blankets.

"No, no, it's fine," Nimwen assured him. "I was only joking. I should be eating a bit more any how. I am eating for two now." Nimwen blinked. "Or, three I suppose," she corrected herself. She sighed. It still hurt to think Solas wasn't there to receive such news. Even she couldn't really take joy in it, knowing now two of her children were endangered by her captors.

"Eat! Food makes everything better!"

"Yes, maybe some food will help." Nimwen said.

"Please, be seated," Inan instructed her. He moved around the kitchen, piling food onto a plate before he placed the plate on the table. "For you, my lady." He gave a deep, graceful bow to her.

Nimwen gave a small smile. "You're too kind, Inan," she said, cutting into a pancake. "Aren't you going to have any?"

"Oh, right, right." He moved and gathered another plate. This one had very little on it. One pancake with a few eggs. He didn't take any of the bacon.

"Don't like bacon?" she asked around a bite of pancake. The food was delicious, better than anything she'd had in awhile, let alone as prison food.

"My bacon goes to Butter. It's all she will eat." He leaned against the counter and started to eat the food with his free hand.

"Never heard of a cat eating bacon." Nimwen tore into a piece of toast, by now ravenous. Her stomach growled even as she ate. She realized she must have looked strange, but she was too hungry to care as she wolfed down her food.

"That good? Good. Glad you're liking the food. Twins hearts seem to like it too." Inan nodded and lowered his plate a little. His eyes moved from her to the wall. For a brief moment, all joy vanished from his face, his expression serious, almost sad before the smile returned and his eyes flickered back to her.

"How did you know it was twins?" Nimwen asked. "Is it some sort of magic, are you a mage?"

Inan tilted his head to one side. "My eyes see the beats of life pulsing from you. Two within, one without. I explained this." He pouted. "I am a healer. Magic is a means to ease pain of the body and heart. I don't like inflicting pain, not good, never good."

"That's good to hear." It still didn't answer the one question she was dying to know. "Will you please tell me why you look like Solas?"

"Butter, bacon!" He leapt into the air. His plate clattered against the counter, not spilling a drop of the little food which remained. He was kneeling before the cat in a blink of an eye. A piece of bacon held out to the cream colored creature as an offering.

The cat sniffed the bacon before she nibbled it. She took it from him and laid it by her paws.

"Why won't you answer me?" she asked. "Is there something wrong?"

Inan frowned. He tilted his head to one side. "Answer? Answer, what?"

Niwen sighed, growing frustrated. "Why do you look like Solas?" she repeated.

Inan hummed under his breath.

' _This man is mad.'_ That was Nimwen's only explanation for his behavior. "Nevermind," she sighed in defeat. She grabbed a piece of bacon and crammed it into her mouth.

Inan started to hum in a tune under his breath. His words weren't a song but were almost sung. "There was once a girl with such a voice it could be heard through the thread of dreams. It moved through the Fade as if one with the hopes and dreams of the people. It whispered deep in sleep. Singing deep to a golden figure, stirring his slumber. A thread to wake. A thread to light hope. Her songs echo still in chants of light across mountains and nations." His eyes were locked on Butter. "Faith stirred, a unity bound in a common ground. A unity broken by the common ground."

"What are you talking about?" Nimwen asked.

"Faith binds the humans of this world, a common ground. Faith broke this world, a broken, common ground. Andraste guided by a golden figure. She saw in her dreams the hope she needed and pain followed. Such pain, so deep it bleed through the world and bound the people in her very blood. Insanity follows faith so strong people will believe anything. Even a prophet's return to the mortal plain."

"'Andraste?'" Nimwen repeated. "What does Andraste have to do with any of this?"

"Hearts linger, dark, filled with pain. A spark grows within, from twisted words. Words utter from hatred and revenge. They follow, blind, lost, drowning in the hopes the words bring."

"This is like speaking to Cole," Nimwen muttered to herself.

Inan rubbed the back his hand. "My apologies, that wasn't clear. No, not clear at all."

"It's okay." Nimwen ran a hand through her hair. "Honestly, we need to focus on how we plan on escaping."

"A wolf bares his fangs. The howl of hallowed rage echoes deep. Flames sear and walls tumble. Escape is a thread of threads to be yet woven through."

"'Wolf' do you mean Solas?" Yes, Solas was going to come. He had to. No doubt, he was going to tear Thedas apart looking for her. It was reassuring, to say the least. "How will he find us, though? _I_ don't even know where we are."

"The Seer's gaze cuts deep, into time, into minds. My eyes can not follow his, I see the thread he follows, but never what he sees. The Seer will know and follow the crumbs left. Faith must bind a shattered relation or you will be lost to darkness of a long feud fueled by centuries of rage. The Flames will consume all. The Puppet Master will play."

Nimwen wasn't quite sure what he meant, but she nodded anyways. "They will come." She didn't know whether that was meant for him, or herself. "I don't know how I feel about just sitting around, like a some damsel." She looked down at Inan. "Are you sure there's no means of escape?"

Inan blinked. "Our captors are no fools. I am kept weak so my magic can't penetrate theirs. The Puppet Master plays tricks and consumes all power he needs." Inan shook his head. "The enchantments on the door will drain my magic," he tried to explain.

"I see." Nimwen glanced down at her hands. "And I won't be casting magic anytime soon." It was a horrible feeling, being cut off from her magic. She now understood what warriors must feel like when their blades were knocked from their hands. Even if she didn't have her staff, her magic was always with her. Until now. "I really am a damsel," Nimwen groaned. She buried her face in her hands. "Is this really all I can do, just wait for help to arrive?"

"At least you have help coming," Inan stated. "Those who love and care for you. And you can do what is needed for your two children." Inan stood and moved away from her. His back to her as he leaned against the counter. "It's all any parent can do for their children."

Nimwen rubbed her stomach. "You're right." Trying to escape would probably put her in more danger than she was in imprisoned. She couldn't just think about herself, her children depended on her for safety. "How long have you been here, Inan?"

"Since the sky was torn the second time."

"You've been here since the Breach?" She felt sympathy for the man. " _Ir abelas_ , it couldn't have been easy."

"Freedom is a matter of the mind, not the body." Inan turned to her and smiled. "I am free even in here. And I have never been alone. I have Butter!"

"That you do," Nimwen chuckled. "And she seems like a good cat."

Butter leapt up onto the table. She settled herself on her haunches and purred.

Inan chuckled. "She likes you."

Nimwen smiled and reached out to pet the cat. "Hey there," she said.

Butter leaned into Nimwen's touch. The purr deepened in her throat and rumbled through her thin, strong frame. Her eyes turned to Nimwen, a strange intelligence glittered in the deep blue gaze. She nudged Nimwen's arm with her nose before she hopped down from the table. Her long legs stretched as she moved.

"When did she come along?" Nimwen asked.

"Butter has always been at my side. She's a good, wise, and faithful friend."

"Glad you haven't been alone." Granted, a cat was hardly a substitute for a person who could actually reply, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Inan looked away from her. "One can be the loneliest person in the physical world, but surrounded by others in dreams. I am never alone."

"You sound like Solas," she said quietly. "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"

"What? Which question? Oh, _the_ question!" He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. Then his features straightened. "No."

"I suspected as much. I suppose I'll stop asking if you're not going to answer. You can understand why I would want to know though, right?"

"Who and what I am is far less important than you may believe, my lady. Threads tie threads, this all anyone needs to know." He turned and started to clean up the mess made by breakfast.

Nimwen was going to respond, but a yawn came out instead. She was starting to feel an after meal fatigue. "Do you mind if I laid down?" she asked.

"Sleep and dream deep of hope and life." Inan bowed his head. "I will see to the mess. It's what I am good at," he laughed, the lightness in his voice implied he was teasing her.

Nimwen smiled and stood. " _Ma serannas,_ Inan."

"A meal will be ready for you when you wake," he vowed.

Nimwen walked back to her bed, growing more tired by the minute. "Good-night, Inan," she murmured as she laid down.

"May your dreams be guarded."

"Yours as well." As Nimwen drifted to sleep, Inan's words made her remember what Mahvir had told her about that saying. Just before sleep took her, she wondered just how old Inan was.

*~ x ~*

A sharp pain beat through Inan's chest. He sat awake even as night lay thick on the world outside this room. He rubbed his chest. The feeling of uneven flesh could be felt through the thin clothes he wore. A stinging pain beat through to him. He sighed and stripped the shirt he wore. Blood trickled from where the soft, tender flesh of the scar which had been reopened.

He shook his head and replaced the shirt. The wound would seal to a scar again before dawn. He stood. Movement graceful, more compact than that he had let Nimwen see. The chains clicked against the stone, even the noise they made was soft. He turned his gaze on Nimwen. She slept in the bed, blankets wrapped around her in an almost nest like fashion.

No matter the personal cost, Inan knew he couldn't let what was planned for her and the twins come to pass. They were innocent in this game of deception and treachery spanning back countless centuries.

He moved over to the bed and looked down at her. She was peaceful. " _My apologies, lady, but it is time for you to see_." He moved away from her to the tattered blankets.

" _Is she ready_?" Butter asked.

" _Perhaps not, but truths of our People have been forgotten and such truths are the reason she's here now_." A thread linking threads weaved together centuries beyond all count. " _She has every right to know them_." Inan turned his gaze back to Nimwen as he settled him one the tattered blankets. The blankets had acted as his bed since arriving here. The bed had been meant for Nimwen and for another when he came in for healing.

" _Have faith, old friend. She will believe the golden light you show as they once did_."

" _Belief isn't my worry, Butter_." Inan took a deep breath, easing back the pain pulsing through his body. It always trickled through him as lava. " _And the truths of our people are far worse than she will ever understand_."

" _You aren't giving her the faith she needs. Believe he chose her for a reason. Believe in her_."

" _I do believe, Butter, but this is the problem. I believe too much in her and in the people._ "

" _Sleep, old friend. Let her decide how she choses to see you_."

" _Let them all see me as they chose_." Inan laid down on the blankets. He felt the warmth of Butter pressed into his stomach. Heard her soft purr. " _Faith is all I have_." He stroked her soft pelt. " _You have been with me for longer than any other spirit has lived. When others would have chosen to fade, you remain._ "

" _I will always remain as long as you believe in me and need me, Hellathen_."

Inan closed his eyes, letting the soft purrs of Butter lull him into the Fade. When he next opened his eyes, it was in the reflection of this room deep in the Fade. He closed his eyes and let the thread binding him to Nimwen's dream world pull him in.

He stood deep within a beautiful forest. It was the same as it had been when she had been little and filled with such pain and sorrow it had cried out to him. Echoing deep into his slumber as a song once had. As all pain always did. He could remember her as a little thing, curled up crying as her dead parents tried to comfort her. Such pain.

He had turned her dreams to light, happy ones, prancing around her as a golden halla. He had taken her for rides and shown her the world was still bright and filled with joy.

As he moved, the body of an elf melted away into a stronger form a solid gold halla. He stopped and stood at the edge of the clearing, ears perked and eyes locked on her.

She sat in the middle of the clearing, playing with a phantom vision of her daughter. Nimwen wore the robes of a Dalish keeper, her daughter in a simple Dalish dress. "Where'd they go?" Nimwen asked.

"Daddy and Mahvy hidin'!" the toddler exclaimed.

"Well, that can't do," Nimwen said with a dramatic pout. "Let's go find them."

"We gonna win!"

Nimwen grinned. "That's right, _da'len_."

Such a peaceful dream. Inan's heart ached from more than the ancient wound which would never heal. Family. Love. Such a life he had longed for once before a mistake had ripped it all away. She would have it again. He would ensure it!

A warm hand touched his flank. "Have faith, my friend," Butter whispered to him.

He turned his gaze on her. No longer was Butter a soft cat. Instead a young elven woman stood beside him. Hair of long, golden strands shimmered in the light of forest. Her white dress seemed to glow.

Butter bowed her head to him. "Show her." With those word she moved away, vanishing into the form of a cat once more. " _We will together_." Her voice echoed in his mind.

Butter raced out into the clearing. She wove herself around the little girl's legs, purring.

"Kitty," the child giggled, bending down to pet Butter.

"Why hello there." Nimwen cocked her head. "You seem familiar."

" _Mamae,_ we keep it?"

"Oh no, you already have a pet, _da'len_."

Butter stopped before Nimwen. "It is time," she meowed. "Come, child. We have much to show you."

That was one way to break a dream. Inan snorted and moved into the clearing. A soft golden light pulsed from him.

Nimwen's eyes widened. "Butter?" The realization melted away the illusions of the dream. They still stood in the forest, but now it was just the three of them. Nimwen's keeper robes transformed into the clothes she wore in the waking world. "What's going on?"

Inan moved forward and lowered his antlered head until it draped over her shoulder.

"I am Faith," Butter introduced herself with a deep bow of her head. "This is Hellathen, my oldest and dearest friend. I believe you've met."

Nimwen studied Inan with suspicion. She gasped. "You!" She took a step back, disbelief coloring her face. "I-I remember you. You came into my dreams after, a-after…" Grief clouded her eyes. "The night we found out they died, you were there. I thought Ghilan'nain sent you, that she was looking out for me. But you weren't, were you?"

He bowed his head to her.

"He comes to those who need him," Butter explained. "A sign, a show of faith and trust to ease the pain of others. You needed a friend and thus see a halla within your dreams. Others see him as something else."

Inan turned from Nimwen and moved to the edge of the clearing. He straightened, ears perked as he looked at her.

"Follow him, dear child." With those words Butter raced away. She vanished from the dream.

"Where are you going?" Nimwen called out.

Inan heard her approach.

"Where did she go? And why are you here again?"

He gestured with his head from her to follow. The movement graceful and elegant. He turned and started off into the forest.

"O-okay, I'll follow you."

The forest dissolved around them, replaced a beautiful city surrounded by the soft green-gold light of the Fade and mortal world woven together. Spires of crystalline light twinned up into the sky. The magic seemed to have taken form, singing as a graceful, elegant song through the very air. The beauty of the golden city was unmatched by any city a human built.

"Arlathan," his voice echoed around them, coming from him and everywhere at once. It was stronger than the voice he used in the waking world, more powerful to the point he knew she would never place the insane man Inan with the halla Hellathen in her dreams.

"Oh my." Nimwen gazed out at the city, awestruck. "It's, so beautiful. Better than all the stories."

"Such beauty fades."

Light crackled through air. The images changed to fire as it raced through the city streets. Elves screamed and raced for their lives. A body was flung from the raging fire. A building cracked as he slammed into it. Solas fell to the ground, coughing blood. The armor he wore covered in it and the fur of the wolf headdress matted.

"A war waged between brothers burns the city."

Elgar'nan strode from the flames, fire licking at his body with no effect. This wasn't the weak elf Nimwen had first met. His golden finery seemed to come alive in the fire, frame strong and eyes blazing with rage. His armor mirrored Solas's but in a golden color. Fine robes whipped around his ankles from the wind whipped up by the fighting.

"War waged between family."

"That's Elgar'nan." Nimwen gasped, her head turning to the fallen elf. "Does that mean that's…?"

"Pride and Vengeance." Inan bowed his head. "Children once meant to bring their people together, now turn their power to war. Both believing they're right. Both misguided."

Solas straightened. The mantle of a wolf fell from his head. His staff was clutched in one hand. Eyes burning with determination as he faced off against Elgar'nan. "You're destroying everything, not me!" he growled.

Elgar'nan's screamed in rage. Fire flared up around him until his body was consumed by it. "This world bends before me. _I_ am in the right to claim it after all I've sacrificed." Elgar'nan charged Solas.

Magic bent to Solas's will. A massive, shadow wolf appeared before him and blocked Elgar'nan's strike. "Was it your right to kill her? Mythal," his voice cracked with pain and rage.

"She betrayed me with _you_! Not once, not twice, but for centuries!" The fire pulsed out. It wrapped around Solas and the city until it was blazed brighter than a sun.

"No!" Nimwen cried.

The fire vanished. A white wolf charged from it. It leapt at Elgar'nan, maw opened as magic crackled around the beast.

Elgar'nan lashed out. His armored fist slammed into the belly of the wolf.

Solas flew back. The sound of him striking the ground echoed through the air. He was an elf once more. "This ends!" Solas struggled to his feet.

"Why?" Nimwen asked. "Why would they cause all of this, over a _woman_?" There were hints of jealousy in her voice that didn't go unnoticed by Inan.

"You misunderstand as the Flame did. The Wolf's love for the Dragon was that of a close friend to be guarded. This battle was over a something far deeper than the death of said woman."

"The slavery and destruction ends here." Solas's eyes started to glow. Not the blue of the dragon's power, but the same faded green as the Fade itself. The ground cracked under his feet.

"No!" Elgar'nan screeched.

The world was ripped apart around them. Energy crackled through the air becoming tangible.

"You will suffer for all the crimes you've committed, _brother_ ," Solas's voice seemed to crackle with the power he was calling forth.

The next moment, Inan and Nimwen were far from the city, watching as it was ripped apart as the world was torn in two. Then a shape was falling through air. It was Solas with another diving after him. Even from this distance Inan could see the wings of Dirthamen pinned to his back.

"This is but a start to the truth of the People, Nimwen," Inan stated.

They were now in the sky the image of a wounded Solas falling, frozen before them. Dirthamen's clawed hand outstretched to save his father from certain death.

Inan moved around the two. "The People's history stretches further back than even the Dread Wolf knew. Further than even the Keeper of Secrets can see." Inan stopped on the other side of the two, his eyes locked on Nimwen. "Their power stemmed from a far older source. But it is up to you to decide if such truths are ready to be revealed."

"Why me?" she asked. "Why is it always up to me to be the savior? What is so special about me? I'm nobody, I've always been nobody!" Her hands raked her hair. "Why me?"

Inan lowered his head. "The moment the wolf chose you as his mate you were caught between your mortal world and the ancient, eternal world he once knew. You were always someone, Nimwen. Your heart has always been strong and kind." He straightened and moved back over to her. He rested his muzzle on her shoulder. "I will walk with you into the reflections of the past. To the first memory of our People in the coming nights. Have faith."

When Inan moved this time, the images faded and they were back in the forest.

"For now, it is time to wake up."

"Hellathen," she spoke up. "When you came to me, when I was a girl. Did you know what would happen to me? At the Conclave, I mean."

"There are many possibilities, dear child. But I don't claim the sight of Dirthamen. I knew nothing of your future. All I saw was a child in pain which I could sooth."

" _Ma serannas._ "

Inan returned his head to her shoulder. "Have faith in your love and your people, Nimwen. No matter how broken both are, they will always come for you."

The dream faded around Inan as he forced himself back into the waking world. He woke to agony coursing through his body. He took a deep breath and remained lying on the hard floor. He hadn't woken in time to cook and wouldn't be able to move for another few minutes if not longer. The Fade was connected to him, its energy bound him to life and moved to help heal the wound which killed him over and over again.

He heard Nimwen begin to stir.

"What a dream," he heard her mutter.

Inan fought through the pain and forced himself to sit up. He managed a goofy smile. "Dream a dream of dreams, Lady Nimwen?" he asked, voice light.

Nimwen chuckled. "Yes, I think." She rubbed her head. "I shouldn't count on having normal dreams anymore, they always turn into something else."

Butter stood and stretched. She slunk out from the blanket and started sniffing around the floor.

"Butter, you're not to hunt those mice, you hear me," Inan scolded her.

" _Very funny_ ," Butter's voice echoed in his mind.

"No mice." Inan stood. All the pain which coursed through him hidden behind the facade of a goofy, insane man. "I will get food ready. Yup, my apologies for not having it ready. I seem to have fallen asleep as well." He laughed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Don't apologize, you need sleep too," Nimwen said to him. "In fact, why don't I make us something to eat? I need to do something other than sit around, and you made that lovely breakfast already."

"Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't possibly ask that of you, lady." Inan loved to cook, but he did have to admit right then he might be more likely to drop the food on the ground.

"It's no problem, and I would be glad to help," she insisted.

Inan nodded and settled himself back on the floor. He rubbed his chest more to ease the fire of pain there than anything else. " _Butter, is the flame visiting today_?"

Butter looked from her rounds around the room for the mice. " _Really? Do you want to see him again so soon_?"

Inan didn't reply instead he turned his gaze back on Nimwen. He didn't have an answer to such a question. It was his fault Solas and Elgar'nan had ended up the way they had. His fault the world and all its people suffered so. Yet, there was nothing he could do to stop such pain as it spread. He rubbed the scar, absently.

"Let's see what we have," Nimwen muttered as she investigated the kitchen. "My you have a rather good stock. I guess our captors aren't the worst 'hosts' after all." Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

"The food is meant for you, yup. There wasn't much here before you came." Inan nodded. Granted, though it galled him to the very bone to admit, he never needed food to "live." The Fade kept him alive, kept him healthy and whole.

"Maybe I should make them something for when they drop by. Deathroot soup maybe? Scrape me up some rat poison and perhaps I'll add a side of cakes as well."

He knew she didn't mean it, but fear raced through Inan at the thought. "No!" He leapt to his feet. "No harming. No poison!"

"Whoa, calm down," Nimwen said. "I was only joking. I'm not stupid enough to attempt such a thing, and I doubt either of them are foolish enough to eat anything I make."

"And we don't have poison." Inan nodded. "Revenge only breeds more revenge." He stepped forward as if to touch Nimwen's shoulder, but then lowered his hand and moved away from her. She was in pain, hurt from those who captured them and he was now less an alley for wanting to protect them. Such was his nature, such was his pain.

"I wouldn't call it revenge. More like self-defense." She turned back to the food she pulled out, which looked like ingredients for some sort of dessert. "They're going to kill me, aren't they?"

"The wolf will come," Inan assured her. Even if Solas didn't come, Inan would try everything in his power to keep and her children alive. "As long as they don't have Lorien, you're safe."

"Lori? Why do they want her?" Nimwen asked. "And, hold on. I never said her full name. How do you know it?"

"Doesn't matter, either way I am insane." He grinned and laughed. He didn't tell Nimwen he had seen Lorien in dreams. Her pain called out now, strong and in need of healing. The first night he had gone to the little one, appearing as a golden wolf, to comfort her pain. It had only worked in dreams.

"But why do they want her, and why would they wait to have her before killing me? It doesn't make sense."

"Lady Nimwen, I can't tell you, please don't make me. It will cause pain, such pain. I don't like causing pain." Yet, he always caused pain. Pain which scarred the world over and over. Was he even an elf? A man? Somehow he doubted it. He didn't need food, he hadn't since the dawn of his memory. He didn't need sleep or anything.

"I… all right, I won't make you," Nimwen sighed. "They won't harm me without having Lori, that's all I need to know. And since she's not with them now, I can only assume she managed to escape. If she's with Solas, they'll have to kill him before they could take her, and that's not going to happen."

" _Her faith is strong in him_ ," Butter said to Inan. Butter leapt up onto the table. " _I rather like her_."

" _Of course you do_ ," Inan stated.

" _I won't leave you, I have walked with you longer than either of us can remember. Never fear, my place is beside you_."

" _I have to fear this_?" Inan teased. He turned his attention back to Nimwen. " _She is strong. She will make a good leader for the people_."

Butter hissed. " _What of him_?"

" _The Seer? Yes, but I feel he would rather advise than rule_."

" _Only one bloodline should rule the People_." Butter had her ears pinned back, eyes locked on him and fur spiked.

" _That bloodline has caused enough pain_."

" _Only one should rule the People_."

" _Butter_."

" _Don't deny it_!"

"Um, Inan, is everything all right?" Nimwen asked. "You've been staring at each other and then she just hissed."

"Oh, she's mad I took her blankets," Inan joked. " _Butter, we both know that person can't rule_."

" _You're running_!"

" _Yes, I'm running_."

" _Your faith has never been this weak before now. You always believed in your people, why has this changed_?" She settled herself back down. Tail now placed over her paws and eyes intense.

"Okay then," Nimwen said as she stirred her ingredients in a bowl. "I'm making hearthcakes, have you had one before?"

"Nope." Inan looked away from Butter. "Have your blankets back, Butter. I can move." He stood and moved away from the tattered blankets.

" _The child saw me in her dream_ ," Butter pointed out as she leapt down onto the blankets. " _How long until she places you with the halla_?"

" _I'm insane to her, remember_?"

Butter's whiskers twitched in amusement. " _If you say so_."

"They're a Dalish specialty. I don't have any halla butter or a campfire, but I'm sure I can still make them." Nimwen smiled. "When we escape, you should come back to the clan with me, so you can try the real thing."

"I'd love to!" Inan grinned. He settled himself back on the ground and pulled out a sketch book. It was one of the few items Elgar'nan had allowed him to have. He took the coal from the fire each night to draw with. It eased back sorrow if he drew the people he had tried to help in their dreams or imagines of another life he had once wished for. He turned to a page in the book. A sketch showed two boys playing in a garden. A beautiful elven woman was seated on the ground behind the boys. One eye covered as in life by a beautiful eye-patch.

His eyes burned as he touched her face, careful not to smear the image. His dearest love. He wished this had been reality. The three of them safe and the boys loved. But it wasn't. She had been taken from him for his mistake. They had lived in torment and pain.

"You draw?" asked Nimwen.

"W-what?" Inan jumped a little. He had forgotten she was there. "Sorry. Yes, yes, I draw."

"I was never good at it," she said.

"Pictures are windows into the artist's mind and heart. As eyes reflect a person's soul. An image shows emotion in the truest form." He kept his eyes locked on the woman. Sometimes, images such as this showed what the heart longed for. The family he had betrayed.

Inan moved to the last image in the book. He started working on it again. It showed little Lorien on a golden wolf.

He would aid Nimwen, but if she managed to escape, he would never go with her. He had no real place in the mortal world. Not in the ways he wanted. He could travel and help those in need.

" _Or you could repair your broken people_ ," Butter's voice interrupted his thoughts.

" _I didn't think that to you, Butter_ ," Inan reminded her. " _Stop sniffing around my mind_."

" _I don't need to know where your heart lies._ "

"Do you prefer lemon or strawberry?" Nimwen asked. "I want to try and spice these up since I have no halla butter."

"Whichever you like! Both sound great." Inan grinned at Nimwen. " _Please, Butter, I can't repair this wound_."

Butter hissed and curled up on the blanket. Her back to him.

Nimwen smiled. "All right, both it is."

* * *

 _Hellathen_ \- Noble Struggle

* * *

 **Flamewing:** I am sorry, that last part still make me laugh. Butter and Inan have a conversation while Nimwen I trying to cook and doesn't have a clue this is happening.


	13. Chapter 13

The smooth weight of the crown of Himinan graced Dirthamen's scarred fingers. He turned it in his hands, watching the dim light of the _aravel_ catching the jewels embedded in the crown. It felt unreal this had been his grandfather's crown. So much history had been lost during both great falls of their people, he didn't even know what Himinan looked like.

Dirthamen let out a long breath. He felt the _aravel_ moving over the ground as they crossed into colder lands. The past month had passed in steely silence between Dirthamen and Solas. His father blamed him for Nimwen's fate. And the acceptance his father had shown him the day of the bonding had passed back into the hatred.

Dirthamen lowered the crown.

To make matters worse, the deeper south they traveled, the more useless to the clan Dirthamen became. The keeper had basically banished Dirthamen to the _aravel_ after the last time he had collapsed in the snow unable to breath. The warmth of the space was less today because Milliel had woken not feeling well. Dirthamen had told her to go to the healer though they both knew it was just the start of her pregnancy showing through morning sickness.

"I should return you to Solas," Dirthamen stated, eyes locked on the crown.

He could never be the heir Solas wanted him to be. One of his other sons would make him so proud. Dirthamen swallowed back the sudden pain lancing through his chest and the burning of his eyes. He could never say it allowed, but the day Solas had given him Himinan's crown had felt as if he had stepped into a dream.

For the first time in his life, a father had accepted him as his son. Solas had been _proud_ of him. Now - Dirthamen cradled the crown. Now, he knew he would never achieve the same level of love Solas showed to Lorien. The same level of love he would show the twins to come.

"If you had lived," Dirthamen whispered, "would my father love me?" He turned the crown over. "Would I have even been born, Himinan?"

Dirthamen stopped turning the crown. From the moment he had seen it, he knew Solas would have rather given it to Lorien. It was Lorien he was proud of. Lorien Solas saw all the hopes of the future in. Who could blame him? Lorien's future could be one which reunited the People after all. Either through war or love or she might not at all.

Jealousy wormed deeper into Dirthamen. His grip tightened on the crown. He loved his half-sister, loved her smile as much as any other child's. It had always been his fate to be forgotten in the wake of his half siblings. Until this moment he hadn't minded much. But, he wanted to belong so badly now it hurt.

"I wonder, what wisdom you would have for me if you lived, Himinan."

He had been said to be the oldest and wisest of the People. He had lead them to safety from some unknown war. A gentle, kind man who loved all his People before he had met his first and only love, Nalas. Dirthamen's grandmother. Even then, he still showed his people devotion. A ruler out of a children's story. Someone too good to be real.

"Your legacy should be with your heir's true heir," Dirthamen whispered. "Not with me. But I'm not allowed near Lorien or Solas." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

A small smile appeared on his face. At least one matter in life was now bright. Milliel and the future with her. One bright light.

His hands tightened on the crown.

Golden light filled Dirthamen's mind. He couldn't open his eyes as the images of a time long passed filled him. A city appeared before him, light of gold filling the halls. A man stood above Dirthamen who found himself in a crowd, looking up at him. His robes golden and bright. They were separated from him by a beautiful river. Waterfalls framed his preach. Golden harts on either side.

The people vanished from the crowd. The night fell and the man remained standing over head. Light seemed to come from him still and Dirthamen could now see the crown on his head. A dark figure moved behind him.

"This alliance will mark a continued peace between us," the man, Himinan, stated.

"There will be no alliance."

Blood flew down to Dirthamen. The glint of a wicked blade could be seen through Himinan's chest.

"Your people belong to us, _emperor_." The dark figure kicked Himinan from the blade.

Dirthamen watched as the emperor fell from the balcony. The crown glittered in the light of the twin moons, still on the emperor's head. Then he vanished below, swallowed by the river.

A sharp sound of a door closing snapped Dirthamen back to the present. He jumped and blinked. He was staring at Himinan's crown. He shook his head to clear it; then, realized Milliel had returned. He winced, realizing he had never shown her the crown or told of the line she was now part of.

"Welcome back, _lath_." Dirthamen looked at her. He tucked the crown away despite the fact he knew she would have seen it. "It take it the healer now knows you're with child?"

"Yes, and I'm sure in an hour the rest of the clan will too," she said, shaking her head. "So, gonna tell me what that thing was?" she asked curiously.

Dirthamen lifted the crown. "It apparently belonged to my grandfather." Dirthamen shifted on the bed so she could join him. Pain lanced through his leg from not moving and the cold outside. He held the crown out to her.

"Your grandfather had a crown? Who was he?"

"Emperor Himinan. He was killed by the Forgotten. Not much is really known about him other than small stories which survived as children tales during the war with the Forgotten."

"Your grandfather was an emperor? That's amazing," she said. "Sooo, does that mean you're a prince?"

A small smile twitched at the corners of Dirthamen's lips. "If the old line still held anything and Solas fully accepted me as an heir, then I would be the second in line after him since my grandmother chose Solas as Himinan's heir over Elgar'nan." He then really smiled. "Though, at one point I was a king beside my brother."

"Do you ever miss it?" Milliel asked. "I know what you said, how you didn't like having that power and all, but is there anything you miss? You must have lived fancy, more lavish than our camp."

"I miss the way my family used to be before the hatred and the rifts between brothers. Believe it or not, Elgar'nan and Solas used to be close. But most of all I miss Falon'Din liking me." Dirthamen shook his head. "It's in the past." He patted the place next to him. "Has the nausea passed?"

"Yeah. Healer Teren gave me this stuff." She showed him a tiny bottle. "Taste horrible, but I'm not throwing up my soul, so it's worth it."

"There is that then." Dirthamen started to wrap the crown in its clothes. For a moment his mind was between Milliel and the sight of Himinan's fall. How had the crown returned to Nalas's hands to pass to Solas? "I imagine your mother will risk the moving _aravels_ the moment news reaches her ears."

Milliel groaned. "Oh, Creators, I don't know what I'll do. It's not like I'm ashamed," she quickly said, as if worried she'd offended him. "I just don't know how to handle her. She can be a bit draining, no matter what emotion she's in."

"She loves you and will love the baby," Dirthamen stated. At least one grandparent would, he added to himself. Oh, well Nimwen would. So two. But Solas? Dirthamen's sight was too clouded with emotion for him to see if his father ever would love his grandchildren.

"You're right," she smiled. She kissed his cheek. "I'm worrying for nothing. I just have to worry about her wanting to name the baby. Which is not happening. At all. She can give us ideas, but she is not naming our child. She will try to get you to convince me, so don't give in to her, no matter how she tries to persuade you. And she will. She's insidious, I swear."

Dirthamen chuckled. "I'm certain I can manage. At least she will be interested in being part of the child's life." Dirthamen winced. He regretted the words the moment he had spoken them. "My apologies, _lath_." He didn't want to bring Milliel into the fight between him and Solas.

"Hey." Milliel took his hand. "Solas is going to come around, I know he will. He's upset about Nimwen, we all are, and is dealing with it in his own way, even if it's the wrong way. Things are going to get better, I promise, Onion."

Dirthamen managed a small smile. He wished he knew if her words were right or not, but his own emotions and pain were clouding his sight when it came to his father and Nimwen's fate. Yet, why had he seen Himinan's final moments?

"Perhaps. Either way, I should return this to him." Dirthamen lifted the covered crown.

"Oh, no, you don't" Milliel frowned, wagging her finger. "He gave that to you, and, by Mythal, you're keeping it. Otherwise you admit defeat, and that's not going to happen. And besides," - she grinned - "you would look much better in it than Solas. You have the hair for it."

Dirthamen chuckled. "I wouldn't point that out to him. He is rather touchy about how he lost his hair."

"Well, serves him right for being mean," she pouted.

Dirthamen burst out laughing at this. Through his laughter, he managed to speak, "He lost his hair in the final battles with the Forgotten." The words were broken with the laughter.

"Oh, oh my. That's… not good." Her face was red. "All right, don't let him know what I said."

Dirthamen managed to stop laughing. "Your secret is safe with me, my love." He bowed.

" _Ma serannas,_ " she smiled.

The crown felt heavy in his hands. Dirthamen turned his gaze back to it. "Milliel, I doubt the line of Himinan will ever retake a throne," he stated. "If it did, the task would be great to pull our people back together after all this time."

"But it's possible, right?" the huntress asked. "Our people built a home in the Dales, albeit not for long. But they did it, so, can't we do it again?"

"And the war to make that home? The lives which will be lost, is this world we want our child to see?" Dirthamen asked. He sighed. "Granted a world growing up on the run isn't much better," he admitted, speaking from experience this time.

"I-I didn't think about that," she said quietly. " _Ir abelas_ , I guess it is too much to ask for."

"No, it isn't, but we need the right leaders to unify our People. I'm not certain I can be that leader." He gestured to his leg. "Besides, the priority for the clan is to find Nimwen and ours is our child." He took her hand with his free one. "We can focus on the problems of tomorrow's tomorrow when they surface."

"That's right." She nodded. "But, to be honest, if I could choose anybody to lead the People, I'd pick you. You care about us, and are so smart."

" _Ma serannas_." Dirthamen smiled at her and bowed his head. He turned his head to the small nest the two of them made in shelves for the ravens. Fear was there right then, sleeping away the day. "Your mother's coming." Dirthamen tucked the crown back into his bag moments before the door into the _aravel_ was opened. Cold air blasted in.

"Hello!" Henala sung.

"Hello, mum."

"I heard the news!"

"Great," Milliel winced as her mother squealed.

"Oh, a baby, dear, this is wonderful! I'm still trying to get over you getting married, but now, I'm going to be a grandmother! Oh Creators!" Henala pulled both her daughter and Dirthamen into a hug. "I can't believe it!"

Milliel turned to Dirthamen with an apologetic smile.

Dirthamen hid a wince at the hug and smiled back. He was just happy Henala was happy. At least she hadn't fainted like Solas had.

"Now, I know it's early, but have you started to consider names?"

"Mum, you are not naming this baby," Milliel stated outright.

Henala pouted. "Now, who said anything about that? Of course, if you can't think of anything, I would be happy to help you-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Henala turned to Dirthamen. "Mahvir, dear…"

"Don't try and cajole him into this," Milliel warned her.

"My apologies, Lady Henala, but I must stand with Milliel on this matter." Dirthamen managed to give the slightest of bows.

Henala sighed. "You never let me help, Milly."

Milliel rolled her eyes. "If you have any ideas, we might consider them, but we're naming the baby."

"All right, all right. Now," - Henala clapped her hands -"what about middle names?"

"Mum," Milliel groaned.

"Fine," the older woman sighed, holding her hands up. "But if I can't name the baby, then I don't want to hear you let Solas do it either."

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow. "I believe the only names Solas will be coming up with are those for his child when we get Nimwen back." A little of his bitterness towards his father did leak into the words despite trying to keep it out.

Henala raised her brows, but said nothing. "I should be going. Faen's mother asked me to help her with her sewing. Poor thing can barely do a proper stitch."

"Isn't she the halla tender, why would she sew?" Milliel asked.

"Something about his birthday, I believe." Henala went to the door. "I'm heading out now. Congratulations, dears."

" _Ma serannas,_ mum," Milliel smiled.

"You take care of her, Mahvir dear."

"I will, Lady Henala." Mahvir bowed his head to her. He felt warmth at her excitement over getting a grandchild spread through him. It was a matter he was grateful for beyond all belief. The child would have one normal grandparent at least in this very screwed up family.

"Well, that went better than I thought," Milliel said after her mother left. "Swore she would have been more adamant. Guess we got lucky."

"I believe she is just happy you agreed to let her help if we couldn't decide on a name." Dirthamen shook his head. "And, I believe this was a stop on the way to help her friend. She heard in passing." He smiled. "I don't think we've heard the last of this, love."

"No we haven't," Milliel chuckled. "But it's nice, having something to be happy about, considering…" Her smile fell. "I'm so worried about her, Mahv. What if they're hurting her right now? What if- what if we get there too late?"

Dirthamen pulled her into an embrace and kissed her forehead. "We'll get there in time." He didn't know if this was truth, but he wanted it to be. He feared what his father might do if they didn't. Nimwen was his anchor in this world. "Let's keep to happy matters for now and worry when we are a little closer. Creators only know, Solas is doing enough worrying for three clans combined."

"You said the Creators," Milliel said.

"I did." Dirthamen felt himself flush. "I am used to doing so when among the Dalish," he confessed with a laugh. "I could say: by my parents, uncle, siblings, and niece if you would rather?"

Milliel snickered. "Shut up." she said, poking his arm.

Dirthamen smiled and kissed her hand. "As you wish, love."

"Such a gentleman," she swooned.

"If you two don't mind, I am trying to sleep!" Fear snapped.

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow at the raven.

"Nobody asked you," Milliel scowled at the bird.

"In that case, shall we ignore him?" Dirthamen pulled Milliel towards him and kissed her.

"Let's," the redhead giggled.

Dirthamen pulled back from Milliel the moment he saw another would enter the _aravel_. Sure enough, a heartbeat later, the door opened and Theon pulled himself inside.

"Theon, knock next time!" Teren's voice sounded outside.

"It's not like they would be doing something I haven't seen before," the _hahren_ retorted.

Milliel blushed, trying to make herself decent despite not being indecent to begin with. "W-what brings you here, _hahren_?" She stammered.

"I had to retire the night you two were bounded."

Teren pulled himself into the _aravel_. "And should have stopped the halla this time!" snapped the healer. He sighed. "Between you and Mahvir it's a wonder I haven't had a heart attack yet."

Dirthamen sighed. " _Aneth ara_ to you two as well, but honestly this could have waited until this evening, Theon."

"Yes, yes, with Teren glaring at me to get into a warm _aravel_ instead. I think not."

"Is there something you two need?" Milliel asked.

"Congratulations are in order," Theon said with a grin. "Teren was nice enough to tell me you two are expecting a _da'len_."

Dirthamen moved a little so that Milliel wouldn't get hit. With more energy than his age showed, Theon threw his arm around Dirthamen's shoulders. Though the embrace was still a lot weaker than when Theon had been younger. "You're finally getting a new family along with the old," Theon's breathing was a little strained as he said this.

Teren sighed and rubbed his eyes. " _Ir abelas_ , Milliel. It's not many who see Theon like this. I fear he's overly excited."

"And you are underwhelmingly excited. We even out."

Dirthamen chuckled. "Theon, I would rather you not pass out."

"You sound like Teren."

Teren snorted. "At last sense from one of you."

Milliel giggled. " _Ma serannas, hahren_ , we're both very excited, aren't we, Onion?"

"Onion?" Theon and Teren asked in unison.

"You two should do that more often, makes you sound like brothers," Dirthamen teased his oldest friends.

Theon chuckled while Teren folded his arms across his chest.

"He'll be more loose lipped with his joy this evening. We still have some wine." Theon winked. "The good stuff."

"No, you are going to be in a warm _aravel_ sleeping. Just coming here aggravated your breathing." Teren scowled.

" _Ma serannas_ for coming by." Dirthamen smiled at them.

"As long as you remember, we still have that scroll to finish translating. You're the only one I know who reads perfect ancient languages." Theon took a deep breath. "Though, I should be off before Teren's hair falls out. Be thankful he talked Deshanna down from coming when she found out."

"I am," Dirthamen stated. He knew exactly what would have happened and Milliel didn't need to see the Keeper acting like she was thirty years younger. Seeing Theon acting like he had when he was fifty years old had to be shocking enough.

"Have a good evening, _hahren_ Theon," Milliel said.

"You as well, _da'len_." Theon grinned. "See you tomorrow, Mahvir." Theon followed Teren out of the _aravel_.

All the way down the ladder, Teren was scolding Theon on being stubborn while Theon joked that he wasn't dead yet and didn't need the _aravels_ to stop just for him. The door closed behind them.

Milliel chuckled. "They squabble like a married couple."

"Yes, you haven't seen what happens when the keeper is added to the mix, _lath_." Dirthamen smiled. He was grateful they had come. They were, as far as he was concerned, family to him. "In anything outside of medical matters Teren and Theon tend to team up against Deshanna. It's rather amusing."

"I can't imagine anybody trying to stand up to Deshanna, for a kind woman she can be really scary." Milliel shuddered.

Dirthamen chuckled and drew Milliel into an embrace. "Theon taught her as a child, Teren is Deshanna's age," he pointed out. "But enough of this, where were we?"

*~ x ~*

Harsh winds were blowing in from the south. They carried the scent of snow on them. A blizzard would be settling over the clan soon enough. Solas's gaze moved from the clouds back to the deep snow. He trudged through it back towards the _aravel_. After a month, Lori had improved enough she could spend time with Sinderon again. But Solas never left her for more than an hour at a time.

Solas pulled himself up into the moving _aravel_. The halla had been pulling the magical wagons through the deepening snow. They stopped only for nights and hunts. Solas closed the door behind him, dusting off his robes of snow.

"I'm back," he stated as he looked up.

"Welcome," said Sinderon.

"Hi, daddy," Lori said quietly. She'd begun to speak again, but she was now quieter, hesitant, hardly the boisterous little girl she'd been just a month before.

Solas crossed over to Lori and drew her into an embrace. Pain etched into him each time he heard her speak. She had been hurt because Solas hadn't been able to get to her in time. If only Dirthamen had told him what was coming. Solas had to swallow back the sudden rage he felt towards the other man.

"Did you eat while I was out, Lori?" Solas asked as he removed his outer robe from the armor he wore under it. The armor was his ancient set without the shoulder guard to keep the robe on in the cold snow. He settled himself in the bed across from Sinderon.

She nodded and returned to playing with her doll.

"She did," Sinderon assured him.

Lori hadn't been eating as much as she used to, and both Sinderon and Solas had grown concerned. Solas glanced towards the plate which still rested by the girl. There was still food on it but not as much. His trick of adding syrup to the eggs had helped get her to eat them.

"Good." Solas touched Lori's head. " _Ma serannas_ , _da'vhenan_ , for eating so much." Solas looked at Sinderon. "And to you for watching her while I was out. The keeper isn't going to stop the clan until we're through the more populated parts of the coast."

Sinderon hummed.

"She believes we will reach the Frostbacks in a few months if we press forward hard," he continued.

He looked at Lori. Worry for Nimwen filled him. Every moment felt as agony to be away from Nimwen. It was unlikely they would arrive in the mountains before the third trimester of pregnancy. Assuming whoever had her hadn't already…

No, just because he couldn't reach her through the Fade yet didn't mean she was gone. He had slept little since her kidnapping, making it hard to enter the Fade. Most nights he was up trying to lull Lori to sleep so she wouldn't dream of nightmares. On the rare nights she slept, he watched her in the Fade if he slept or outside of it if he couldn't. On those nights, he noticed she had the same dream of a golden wolf.

"Solas, could I speak to you for a moment?" asked Sinderon.

Solas nodded.

Sinderon stood and they moved by the door. "I'm worried," he whispered, so Lori wouldn't hear. "I practically had to beg her to eat, and she hardly talks, and she's still so wary of people," the hunter sighed. "Nimwen was like this too when our parents died. But she was older, it was easier to explain things and I could talk to her. I don't know how to talk to a toddler. I-I'm scared she won't be herself," Sinderon admitted. "I don't know what to do."

"Nimwen's not dead," Solas had to remember to keep his voice low.

He took a deep breath to force back the rage at the idea she was. If he was truthful with himself, Solas also didn't have a clue what to do. His mind wondered to Dirthamen. He had raised children and some had been toddlers who had just lost their family. He couldn't go to Dirthamen. Dirthamen was just as much at fault for Nimwen being gone as Solas was. He didn't want Dirthamen back in Lori's life.

"She is getting better slowly," Solas whispered after a time. Though, he couldn't keep his own worry from his voice.

"She asks about Mahvir," Sinderon mentioned.

Solas's jaw tightened. "He's not to see her."

"She asks why he doesn't want to see her." Sinderon stared down at Solas, eyes narrowed. "It makes her upset. Let him see her."

Solas looked towards Lori. He wanted only what was best for her, but if Dirthamen was the way to heal her? It hurt to admit he might be the one to get through to Solas's precious daughter where Solas and Sinderon had failed.

"Very well," he stated. "If he can get into the _aravel_ without it stopping he can see Lori."

Sinderon nodded. "I'll tell him." Sinderon opened the door and hopped out of the _aravel_.

Solas closed the door behind the man. He muttered a few choice words in elvish under his breath before he moved back over to Lori. He watched his daughter, trying to feel the same warmth he had back in Kirkwall at watching her play. The joy she had shown then wasn't there and thus he felt hollow inside.

"Daddy?" Lori spoke up.

"Yes, _da'vhenan_?" Solas perked at hearing Lori's voice.

"I cold."

Solas lifted one of the blankets and moved next to her. He wrapped the blanket around her small shoulders and pulled her into an embrace.

The toddler clung to his chest, curling as close to him as possible.

"You're safe here," Solas whispered. He stroked her hair and held her to him. The blanket between her and the armor he wore to keep her warm and protected.

"I dream bad men come," Lori whimpered.

"I know." Solas felt helpless. It would have been easier to keep her safe in her dreams if he could sleep. He could make her dreams happy light ones, but when he slept it was the nights she had good dreams. The nights she didn't wake screaming. It was a fear of his to fall asleep when his little girl would wake in the dead of night to fears.

"They gonna come?"

If they did they were dead. Solas didn't say this. Instead he whispered, "No, _da'vhenan_ , they will never harm you again." Only if they managed to kill him first and he would be damned if that would ever happen.

"I want _mamae_ ," she sniffed.

"The clan and I will get her back," Solas assured Lori. He stroked her head.

A soft noise outside the _aravel_ was the first hint Solas got to the fact three people were outside. Cold washed over the room as Milliel entered first.

"Hey there, Lori." The redhead smiled at the girl.

Solas felt Lori tense against him, but she didn't panic like she had before.

"Milliel, he's going to throw me," Dirthamen's voice sounded calm from outside.

Lori perked up at the sound of the voice. "Mahvy?"

The next moment Dirthamen was tossed into the _aravel_ right into Milliel. The two of them fell to the ground. " _Ir abelas, lath_."

Milliel laughed. "I can't believe that just happened."

"That I was thrown or we fell?" Dirthamen asked. He struggled off her, seeming careful with how he moved he managed to get up and held out his hand to Milliel. "Or that Sinderon had to carry me here?" There was a hint of displeasure in his voice at having been carried.

"All of it," Milliel snickered.

"Brother?"

Dirthamen finished helping Milliel up before he moved and awkwardly knelt before Solas and Lori. "Hello, Princess," his voice was gentle.

Solas's eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue for Lori's sake. If this didn't work to cheer his daughter… Solas wasn't sure what would.

Lori wriggled out of her blanket and wrapped her arms around Dirthamen's neck. "You here!" she cried.

"My apologies for not coming. I thought you needed time to heal, Princess." Dirthamen returned the embrace. His dark eyes locked onto Solas.

The two of them stared at one another. Then Solas gave a curt nod. It was working to help Lori so Dirthamen could stay, but nothing had changed between the two of them.

A moment of pain passed through Dirthamen's eyes. It was gone faster than a heartbeat. Dirthamen nodded in reply.

"I give your doll name," Lori said, pulling out the toy Dirthamen had given her.

Dirthamen tapped Lori's nose. "She's your doll, Princess. I made her for you." His smile was gentle.

There came the noise of the door closing as Sinderon stepped inside.

Lori pouted. "I know. You make her I mean," she explained. "Her name Daff."

Solas kept his expression even and watched Dirthamen.

"That is a lovely name, Lorien." Dirthamen smiled, voice sincere.

"I name her 'cause her hair yellow, like flower." Lori turned to Solas. "Get it, daddy?"

"Yes, _da'vhenan_ , it is a good name for her." Solas gave Lori a small smile.

Dirthamen looked at him, but his expression was unreadable. There was a tension between the two of them Solas was grateful Lori didn't seem to notice, but the other two in the _aravel_ did.

"Um, so Lori," Milliel spoke up. "How're you feeling, _da'len_?"

The toddler shrugged. "Dunno."

Milliel looked to Dirthamen.

"Milliel and I have news which might cheer you up," Dirthamen told her. "I know you know what an aunt is, right, Princess?"

"Like Aunt Sera an' Aunt Josie?" Lori asked.

"Yes, but this time through relation rather than friendship."

Solas had to fight a scowl. The news was happy, depending on who one asked.

The girl cocked her head to the side. "What you mean?"

"You're brother and I are having a baby," Milliel smiled.

Lori's eyes widened. Her stare lowered to Milliel's stomach. "There a baby in there?" she asked, pointing.

"That's right, sweetie," Milliel replied.

"Wow! Daddy, she have baby in her tummy!"

"She does," Solas agreed. He smiled this time so that no one could tell it was fake. No one but Dirthamen that was.

Dirthamen's eyes narrowed.

"So, I like Aunt Sera, Mahvy?" Lori asked.

Solas choked a little at this. "Hopefully you will be a good role model for your niece or nephew." He shuddered to think on the influence Sera had on his daughter.

"What a 'role model'?" Lori asked.

"It's what you will be, Princess," Dirthamen explained. He moved and settled himself on the ground so he wasn't kneeling anymore. "It's someone older who sets an example for someone younger than them. You can show them how to eat with a fork since I always forget." He smiled at her.

A small smile appeared on Lori's face. "I teach baby stuff. Like fork stuff and tree stuff. Ooh! Aunt Sera teach me open locks, I show that too!"

Solas scowled. "Sera did what?"

Dirthamen chuckled. "You can teach the baby whatever you want to teach them. Just no getting into too much trouble, sister. I would love to see you being a good role model like Cassandra."

"I teach you baby, and _mamae_ baby!"

"That's what a big sister and aunt does," Dirthamen stated with a smile.

Solas was between relieved Dirthamen had helped and upset Dirthamen was the one to get Lori to talk and relax. Then, there was the fact Sera had taught Lori to lockpick! Lockpick? A three year old!

"Daddy, I gonna be good teach?" Lori asked.

"Of course you will. You're a natural," Solas told her. "Teach the babies to stay out of trouble. All right, _da'vhenan_?"

Lori nodded. "Okay, daddy, I promise," she grinned.

" _Ma serannas_ , you're already a good role model, _da'vhenan_." Solas placed his hand on her head.

"Imma be good model like Aunt Sera, and Aunt Josie, and Aunt Cass, and Aunt Lilly, and Aunt Viv, and…" Lori continued to name off every woman she considered an aunt, which was apparently a lot.

Solas stared at Lori, mouth a little open by the sheer number of people she considered to be in their family.

Dirthamen chuckled. "Perhaps you should be thankful you don't have any blood sisters, Solas," Dirthamen teased.

"… and Aunt Lace!" Lori finished.

"My that's quite a lot of aunts you have," Milliel chuckled.

"Mhm," Lori nodded. "Then I gots lotsa uncles. I gots Uncle Sin, Uncle Dorian, Uncle Bull, Uncle Cullen, Uncle Thom, Uncle Krem, Uncle…"

Dirthamen smiled. "You're missing an uncle, Princess."

"Don't you dare," Solas growled.

"I wasn't going to say his name. But you can't deny you have a brother forever, Solas." Dirthamen shrugged.

"Huh?" Lori looked at Solas. "You have brother, daddy?"

Solas sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Who he?" asked the toddler.

"Your grandmother named him Nan," Solas stated.

"It means vengeance in our tongue," Dirthamen explained to Lori.

"What that?"

"Something I hope you never feel," Solas stated.

"That's right," Milliel spoke up. "It not a nice thing, like jealousy. Do you know what jealousy is?"

"Um… it green?" Lori asked.

Milliel chuckled. "That's right. Well, vengeance is sorta like that. It's when somebody does something not nice to you, so you want to do mean stuff to them back. Like jealousy, it's not a good feeling."

"Oh," Lori said. "I no want venge-pants."

"Good, you don't wish to feel the emotion and you're not meeting him either," Solas stated.

"If we ever have this reunion I will warn you so we can all hide," Dirthamen joked.

"Can I just say that it's mad to think the idea of a family reunion is an actual safety concern?" Milliel asked. "My, what a crazy family we are."

"But we are a family," Sinderon spoke up from the background. "That's what matters."

"As long as we keep my brother, nephews, nieces, and grandniece out of the picture, yes, this is true. The moment they're in the picture, I doubt the word 'family' will mean much to them." Solas's eyes widened. "No offense meant," he stated to Dirthamen.

"I'm not your nephew."

Solas felt his eyes widen.

"And considered this mood officially murdered," Milliel muttered.

"No you not," Lori agreed. "Mahvy big brother, and daddy my daddy, so he Mahvy daddy, right, daddy?"

Solas looked from Lori to Dirthamen. He couldn't say no, it would break Lori's heart. And he couldn't not say yes because, deep down, he knew he saw Dirthamen as his son now even if he was often times upset or disappointed in him.

"Yes, that's right, Lori," Solas stated.

A smile appeared on Dirthamen's face. He nodded to Solas.

"Say, Sinderon, why don't you and I go, um… check the arrow supply?" Milliel suggested, obviously trying to find an excuse for the three of them to be alone.

Sinderon grunted.

"Great." The redhead clapped. "We won't be gone too long, so you three play nice, okay?"

"We will, love." Dirthamen pulled himself off the ground. He kissed Milliel. "We'll see you shortly."

Solas frowned. There was nothing in there for her to be safe. Wasn't Dirthamen worried about her or his child?

Milliel smiled at him. "All right. See you soon."

"Good-bye, Pretty Eyes," Sinderon said to Lori.

"Bye-bye, Uncle Sin," the toddler waved.

The hunter gave a subtle smile.

After the pair left, Lori turned to her brother and father. "We play game."

"Whatever you wish, _da'vhenan_." Solas bowed his head to his daughter.

"I am yours to command, my princess." Dirthamen managed to bow low to Lori.

Solas turned his gaze to Dirthamen. "You're not worried for your mate?" he asked.

"Should I be? She's stronger than I am and Sinderon's with her." Dirthamen smiled.

"Gaaaaame," Lori whined.

"All right, a game. Which do you want to play?" Dirthamen asked and settled himself on the bed across from them. His bad leg stretched out.

"Guess-Guess!" Lori proclaimed.

"A question game?" Dirthamen asked.

Solas chuckled. "This means you and I will be at a disadvantage against your brother, Lori."

"Then he thinker, we guesser," Lori said. "I beat you, daddy. _Mamae_ say I good guesser."

"That you are," Solas agreed. His heart ached at the thought of Nimwen, but Lori had cheered up. Solas looked at Dirthamen. A prickle of jealousy crept into his heart. Somehow it was Dirthamen Lori responded to. Not Solas or Sin.

"So, Mahvy, think of thing," Lori commanded.

"Animal," Dirthamen stated.

"Nug?" Lori asked.

"No."

"Dragon?"

"No," Dirthamen shot down that one faster than Solas had asked.

"Bunny?" Lori asked.

"No."

"Is it larger than a rabbit?" Solas asked.

"Yes."

"Ooh, ooh, halla!" Lori said.

"No," Dirthamen stated.

"Smaller than a halla?"

"Yes."

"Um… wolfy?" Lori asked, hopeful.

Dirthamen chuckled. "No."

"Carnivore?" Solas asked.

"Yes."

"What that mean?" Lori asked.

"It eats meat like a wolf does, _da'vhenan_. Don't count that as her question," Solas added to Dirthamen.

Dirthamen bowed his head.

"Oki doki, um… fox?"

"No," Dirthamen sounded apologetic.

"Smaller than fox?" Solas asked.

"Yes."

Smaller than a fox but bigger than a rabbit. Solas shook his head. Really? A cat!

Lori sighed. "You do hard, Mahvy."

"Does it go meow?" Solas asked.

"Yes."

"Oh! I know! I know!" Lori beamed. "Kitty!"

"That's not a question, but yes. It's a cat." Dirthamen rubbed his head. " _Ir abelas_ , Princess, that was harder than I thought it would be."

"That fun, you do it good," she giggled.

"Would you like to choose next?" Dirthamen asked.

"Uh-huh," she nodded. She put her finger to her lips. "Um… I got it. It something you wear."

"I know, dress?" Dirthamen joked.

Solas scowled.

"Nope," Lori said, proudly.

Then Solas smiled. He knew what Dirthamen was doing, he was going to use up the questions they were allotted so they lost. "Is it for cold weather?" Solas asked

"Nope!"

"Robes?" Dirthamen asked, still grinning.

"Nuh-uh."

"Candles?" Solas asked.

"That was only once," Dirthamen retorted. "And the king was drunk."

"You can wear them. It's valid."

"No candles, daddy, you silly," Lori laughed.

Dirthamen shook his head. "Scarf?"

"No." Lori looked quite chuffed, grinning smugly.

Solas smiled at her. His heart warm to see her so happy. "Boots?"

"Or nothing?" Dirthamen added.

"That isn't what you should say to a three year old!" Solas snapped.

"It could be nothing."

"Dirth."

"It could be."

"I no cheat," Lori informed them. "Need clue?"

"Nope, I am good," Dirthamen stated.

"Does it go on the waist?" Solas asked.

"Nope."

"Is it a shirt?" Dirthamen asked.

"Wrong."

"All right, what is it, _da'vhenan_? I believe you have Mahvir and I thrown into a state we don't have clue," Solas stated.

"Tiara!" Lori proclaimed proudly. "I win, I win!"

" _You knew that all along_?" Solas asked in elvish.

" _Of course, but Lorian needs to win_ ," Dirthamen stated. "Candles, really?" he asked in common.

"Fine, so the king wasn't in his right mind, but he still wore them."

"Candles not for clothes," Lori said.

"And neither is nothing. You're not teaching your sister very well," Solas scolded.

Dirthamen chuckled. "I do believe she teaches me."

"I best guesser," Lori grinned. "I teach you two now, 'cause I smart."

"I would be honored." Dirthamen bowed.

"Yay," Lori clapped. "I glad you come, brother. I-I…" Her face fell. "I thought you no like me no more."

Solas bowed his head. "It's my fault he didn't come by, _da'vhenan_ ," he confessed.

"Father," - Dirthamen seemed to force the word - "seemed to think it for the best I gave you time to heal. I love you, Princess. You're the best sister in the world."

Considering what the other two did, it wasn't hard to beat, but Solas kept this to himself.

"I love you too, Mahvy," Lori said, hugging him. "I was scared, but daddy make me safe. Now you both here, that good."

Solas gritted his teeth. "Would you mind staying for a few days?" he managed to ask. It felt like his teeth were being yanked from his mouth.

"Only if Milliel is all right with it," Dirthamen said. "And she can stay from time to time. Lorien could do with Milliel there to make her smile. What do you think, Princess?"

"O-okay," Lori said. "You both here, bad men _really_ can't come, right?"

"Right," Solas agreed. He only hoped the two of them didn't argue before her. He looked at Dirthamen.

Dirthamen looked back. His expression saying "I won't start an argument."

* * *

 **Flamewing:** So, on Dirthy being carried to the _aravel_ , yeah, he moves slower than the moving _aravels_ …


	14. Chapter 14

Nimwen sighed. After she finished counting the cracks in the ceiling, it appeared there was the same amount as the last three times she counted. As cliche as the act was, there was little else for her to do. The past month lurch away with Nimwen struggling to keep herself sane.

In the beginning, she scoured every inch of the room for some means of escape. Any idea she came up with involved the use of magic, and after days of failed attempts to break the manacles on her wrists, she realized none of them would work. So, she tried biding her time in any way. At first it was cleaning. Her prison was absolutely immaculate, and the elf was disappointed when there was nothing left for her to clean. She tried to take comfort in her company, but she found after a while Inan had become withdrawn. She didn't know why, but it was getting more difficult to speak to the older elf.

Now, she lay on her bed, her back starting to ache from not moving for over four hours, desperate for mental stimulation. Her throat was sore after hours of singing, and being locked away in the same room for over a month was slowly draining her motivations.

' _Do you want to move?'_ Nimwen asked, stroking her stomach. A few days ago she felt the first feelings of her children. They weren't kicks, per say, rather a fluttering not unlike the butterflies of nervousness. These weren't butterflies, however, and the moment she felt the first ones, she knew what it was.

"Nothing, huh?" Nimwen said aloud when she got no response. She sighed. Feeling the babies had been the most excitement she'd felt in a while, now it seemed she was being ignored. The fact she had no names to plead with made it all the more vexing. "Virdin…" Nimwen mumbled to herself. Talking to herself out loud was a new habit, brought on by the desire to hear some voice, even if was her own. "Say, Inan, what do you think of the name Virdin?" Nimwen asked, hoping she would get a response.

The man jumped from where he had been sitting at the table drawing. "W-what?" he stammered, seeming caught off guard.

"Virdin, what do think of it as a name for one of the twins? If one of them is a boy that is."

"Seems rather cruel? Call a child dead path," Inan mumbled. "Almost as bad as calling someone Friend to the Dead. Yep. But it's your choice."

"It was my father's name," Nimwen clarified. "And, yes, it does seem like an odd choice unless you knew the story.

"A long time ago, our clan fought a large battle against these human bandits. There were a lot of them and though our clan won, it was a bloody ordeal. My grandmother, Thenera, was trying to find my grandfather who nobody had been able to find. Even though she was with child, she combed the battlefield wanting to at least find his body. Nobody could find her either, since she snuck off by herself."

Nimwen smiled. She had fond memories of her grandmother, who was a spitfire even in old age. When she heard the story for the first time, she could see her grandmother stubbornly set off to find her husband no matter what.

"She ended up going into labor, and actually had my father on that battlefield. Meanwhile, my grandfather had woken up and was trying to find his way back to the clan. Grandpa Dor'mi you see, got blinded in the fight, and had no idea where he was. But, then," - she turned to Inan - "he heard a baby crying. He followed the sound and found grandma and my father. They helped each other back to camp, grandmother guiding and grandfather helping her walk. They realized she was still in labor, and they'd just made it back to camp when the second baby was born. If grandfather hadn't heard my father crying, he would have bled out for certain," Nimwen explained. "So they named him Virdin, since grandfather found a path through the dead because of father. My uncle was named Bora, because he, according to grandmother _'Shot out so fast you'd think he was fired from a bow.'_ " The memories of her family made Nimwen slouch. How she missed her grandparents, her father; her mother. She didn't even have memories of her uncle, he'd run away before she was even born. How she wished they could have lived to see her grow up, to meet her children.

"Oh, then it's a happy, happy name!" Inan cheered.

Nimwen chuckled. "I suppose it is. It's on my list of names, at least. I won't make any decisions without Solas. Doesn't mean I can't make a list." It was about one of the only things she was able to do, locked away. "What about 'Dorian'?"

"Human name," Inan stated. He hummed under his breath, a haunting tune which seemed all to random.

"A very special human name," Nimwen added. "One of the best humans I've ever met, actually."

Inan continued to hum the tune.

"But this is just assuming they're boys. I'll have to think of girl names as well." _'Three girls.'_ Nimwen shuddered at the thought. Lori was a handful enough, but three? Then again boys were no walk in the woods either. "I wonder how Solas would feel about three daughters? Or would he want sons? One of each?" She turned her head to Inan. "Thoughts?"

Inan started to sing, his voice low and just as haunting as the tune he had been humming:

 _Mirthadra sa din  
_ _Sahlin Elvhen seth  
_ _Gara banal'ras  
_ _Felas banal'ras_

 _Iras tel'lath in  
_ _Elvhen seth banal'ras  
_ _Iras tel'atisha in  
_ _Banal'ras him ballanaris_

 _Ma lin numin ravas  
_ _Glandival somniar  
_ _Bal abelas ma len in  
_ _Iras banal'ras sa gara_

 _Ma len garas enaslin  
_ _Sa solas  
_ _Sa nan  
_ _Len ma lath garas nehn_

The song's tune spoke deep of pain and lose. It seemed to echo from his very heart. It sounded, through the song, he spoke of his own life. A lost love and lost children rather than that someone else lived. The last stanza of the song seemed to leap out at Nimwen.

"You lost your family?" Nimwen asked, quiet.

Inan stopped humming. His head bowed. "Yes," he whispered.

Nimwen sat up and placed her feet on the ground. "How did it happen?" she asked.

"Not there to see it," Inan whispered. "Not there." The charcoal shook in his hand. He shook his head. "I believe your mate will be happy either way, yup." His voice cheered at once, all sorrow gone.

Nimwen stared at him, concerned. There was more to him than he was letting on. There was this sadness about him that couldn't be concealed by his smiles and chipper voice. She thought of how her month as prisoner wore away at her, and realized it was nothing compared to what he'd endured. Added was the harsh life she was starting to get hints of.

"How do you do it? How do you go on smiling?" Nimwen asked.

Inan blinked and turned to her. For a long time he just stared at her. "Threads tied to threads in the depths of dreams. Where the Fade presses to the mortal realm, where he lingers in dreams so deep." Inan hummed and turned back to his sketch book.

"Threads, threads, threads, always about the threads," Nimwen mumbled. "I wish I could see these threads. It would be better than seeing these damned walls."

Inan laughed. "Close your eyes. Dream. The threads connect all dreams, all life."

"I've been doing a lot of sleeping," Nimwen sighed. "I sleep until it hurts to stay in bed. I've slept more in the past month than I have in years."

Inan looked like he was going to respond when Butter let out a soft hiss. The cat seemed to vanish behind the stove. Inan tugged up his hood and the piece over his mouth. "They're coming," he whispered as he stood.

Nimwen stiffened, eyes on the door.

"Stand," Inan told her. He gestured for her to get to her feet. "Fast, fast."

Nimwen got to her feet, dread creeping up her spine.

The door opened and Falon'Din strode into the room. His mask glittered in the light of the candles, presence almost threatening. Despite how he looked identical to Mahvir in all but the eyes and strength of his arms, there was none of the kindness in his yellow gaze as it locked onto Nimwen.

"You, mortal woman, move to the table," he barked.

Nimwen glared at him, but complied, not about to risk refusing him.

The soft sound of the metal cane soon followed her own movements. Elgar'nan moved into the room. Despite his almost shrivelled appearance, there was still an air of power which came from him.

"Healer." Elgar'nan turned his amber gaze on Inan. "Move," he hissed the word.

Inan scrambled around Nimwen until he stood near the bed. He bowed low, not speaking a word, gaze downcast. Never once did he look up towards the two men. His eyes hidden in the shadows of his hood.

Elgar'nan moved over to the bed and sat down. He removed the robes. His shoulders were thin and body frial. Worse of all were vains turned black, his skin almost tinged with the color from how pale it was.

A soft golden light came from Inan's hands as he moved to heal Elgar'nan.

The door was left open. Falon'Din leaned against the wall beside the door, his golden-yellow gaze locked on Nimwen. "I do hope the room is to your liking, _aunt_ ," he sneered her relation to him.

Her eyes narrowed. "It could be worse, quite frankly the color of the walls are a bit tired. Would you mind fetching me some paint, _nephew_?"

Falon'Din's eyes narrowed, causing the scarred flesh around his eyes to crinkle. "You overstep, mortal."

The soft golden light seemed to grow brighter. "That should do it for another month," Inan stated, voice no longer cheery. "At least for the tainted blood." _Whack_ \- Inan gasped and coward back from Elgar'nan. "Forgive me, m'lord, I mean no offense."

"Then don't speak," Elgar'nan hissed.

"What did he even do?" Nimwen demanded. She was pushing it, _really_ pushing it. But a month locked up had made her restless, and seeing Inan hurt made her snap. "That's not how you treat the person who's keeping you alive."

Sharp pain bit into Nimwen's shoulders. Falon'Din pinned her to the wall, the talons of his gloves dug into flesh. "That is how we treat slaves," he hissed, mask less than an inch from her nose.

Fear coursed through her, but her outside remained livid. She would not let him see her afraid. " _Len'alas lath'din_ ," she spat. "You think yourself a god, but you are far from one. No god need prove himself, nor bully to get his way."

Falon'Din growled. With one hand he pinned her to wall. The other was free, his eyes started to give off an almost acidic green color. "You'll regret those words, mortal filth."

A golden light erupted around Nimwen in a barrier. "P-please, m'lord, I am the one who erred, not the girl." Inan's hand was lifted. The barrier coming from him.

Falon'Din hissed in pain, his hand snapping away from Nimwen. A burn had appeared around his wrist where the barrier had struck. "You dare!"

Inan grabbed his hood moments before he was blasted over the bed. A loud crack sounded as he slammed into the wall. Inan slid the ground in a crumbled heap.

"Enough, Falon'Din," Elgar'nan stated. "They've learned their place and are both more valuable alive than dead. Hold your temper until Fen'Harel arrives."

A growl came from Falon'Din. "Very well, father, but after," - he turned back to Nimwen one clawed finger touching her jaw - "you will make a fine puppet."

"Come, Falon'Din." Elgar'nan had stood and left the room.

"A fine puppet indeed," Falon'Din whispered, there was something in the words which were off, almost regretful, but so hard to hear it was as if they weren't there at all. He backed away from Nimwen. He turned and strode from the room. The door slammed closed behind him.

The tension in her body disappeared and she let out a sigh. She rushed to Inan's side. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking him over for injury.

Inan shuddered. Despite her magic being cut off, Nimwen could still feel the Veil weakening around them by the second. Golden-green light wrapped around Inan and she heard a soft popping as bones realigned.

"I'll live," he muttered.

" _Ir abelas_ ," she said, feeling guilt. "I should have held my tongue. I couldn't stand them mistreating you, but I only made it worse."

"They're not known for their kindness," Inan stated, voice holding no cheer to it, only pain. Yet, it wasn't the pain of the body. He straightened and rubbed his chest. It was an action Nimwen had seen him do countless times before.

"Are you injured?" Nimwen asked. "I know I don't have magic, but I'm sure I could do something to help."

"The wound will reseal," he stated and stood. "Are you hungry?" he asked, voice light now. "I can make lunch." He pulled down his hood and the piece over his mouth to reveal a bright smile. A small amount of blood had trickled from the corner of his mouth but was smeared now showing it had happened when he was thrown.

"I-" Nimwen was going to say she could make them food, but refrained. "Yes, that would be lovely. So long as you feel up for it." She knew Inan liked to help, wanted to seem useful. It was a sentiment she knew all too well.

"I will make you three a feast to rival that of kings!" Inan raced away from the wall. It looked as if he had never been injured. The only remaining signs was blood staining the wall. But the throw had not been enough to impale him.

Inan hummed a merry tune as he flitted between cabinets, pulling items out for a bean and vegetable soup.

Nimwen smiled. " _Ma serannas,_ Inan. You are too kind to us."

"It's no trouble. I love to cook," he said in a sing-song tone. His hand pulled back fast over a carrot as he chopped it. Within a few minutes all of the vegetables were cut and placed into a big pan to cook.

Butter slinked out from her hiding place, nose twitching. She licked her lips as if in anticipation for the food.

"Hey there," Nimwen said to the cat. "I think she wants to _help_ you," she smirked.

Inan looked at Butter. "Nope, nope, she just wants to eat."

Butter moved over to Nimwen and wound herself around Nimwen's legs. A soft meow came from her. It was as if the cat was saying, "Pet me, please?"

Nimwen smiled and stroked the cat's head. "Sweet thing."

Butter purred and rubbed her face against Nimwen's hand. Each time Nimwen tried to move to pet her elsewhere she moved so that she was still hugging Nimwen's hand. The purr deep and true in her chest.

"Aren't you extra cuddly today," Nimwen chuckled. "Trying to butter me up to get some food out of me?"

Butter looked up at her, eyes stretched wide as if saying, "Me? Never!"

"Oh, don't even deny it, I have a three year old, you know? Won't work on me." What was meant to be a joke ended up making her heart ache. Lori. This was the longest she'd ever been away from her daughter, and the fact it was against her will only made it worse. _'Stay safe, da'len.'_ Nimwen hoped somehow her feelings could reach Lori. "She would love you, you know?" Nimwen asked as she scratched Butter's ear. "She loves animals, bugs too. I swear if I didn't say no she would have a whole zoo in her room." She let out a shaky laugh as her eyes welled up. "She thinks everything is cute, even cockroaches. O-one time she found one and tried to have a tea party with it. It-it wouldn't stay at the table a-and she kept chasing it a-and…" Nimwen stopped when the lump in her throat was too much. "M-my baby girl," she wept.

The weight of a blanket fell over Nimwen's shoulders. Inan was kneeling before to her. "Drink." He pressed a glass into her hands. "It won't take the pain away, but it will ease it." He didn't stand, rather remained by her, expression so very different from the happy ones she was used to.

She took the glass, cupping it in her shaky hands. She forced herself to take a drink. The tea didn't ease her sorrow, but made it easier to speak. "I-I miss her so much." she choked out. "What's going to-to happen to her without me there? What if I never see her again? What if-" Nimwen took another drink, trying to wash away her fears.

"Your mate is with her. She will be safe, loved, and protected until you are with her again."

Inan stood and moved away from Nimwen. He pulled out the bread he had baked last night and set the table for one. The bowl of soup was placed, steaming, on the table along side the bread and butter. He placed another bowl on the ground.

"She sounds like a loving child to care so much about the creatures of this world. You raised her well." He moved back over to the counter and started to clean the scraps of the food. He placed them, as she had seen him do every day, into a plate and placed it down on the floor.

"I-I tried to do my best," Nimwen said. "It wasn't easy. Even with all my friends, I was for all intents and purposes a single mother, and my own mother died before I learned how to raise a baby." Nimwen sighed. The tea was starting to soothe her nerves, even just a little bit. "I was so worried I was going to mess something up, ruin her somehow. But you're right, she's the sweetest little girl, always happy, always wanting to learn and always sees the good in people." Nimwen's hand went to her stomach. "I've spent so long trying to get all of us to be a family. Me, Lori, Solas, Mahvir; the twins. Just when it seemed we were coming close something else drives a wedge. I just… I just hope there's still a chance."

"Your family is bound together through history. Even if they're tattered and hate one another, those closest to you will try for your sake." Inan turned away from Nimwen. "You remind me of Nal-" he cut off. "Of my love. Determined and strong willed. Never lose sight of that, Lady Nimwen. It's the key to keeping those you love together." Inan laughed as he looked back at Nimwen and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I would hope it is, but I'm not really the one to give that advice. I have no real family after all."

Nimwen stared at Inan, at this man who was so lonely, so pained, yet was utterly kind. "When I get out, you're coming with me," she told him. "You are one of the People, and my clan has never turned any of the elvhen away. You could have a home there, with us."

Pain and longing settled into Inan's eyes. "I wish I could," he whispered, "but no."

"Why not?" Nimwen asked. "You said it yourself, you have no family, and I doubt you actually like it here with _them_. What's stopping you?"

Inan looked away from her. "I'm not an elvhen," he whispered. "Not anymore."

He turned away from her. His cape fell to the ground to reveal a back wet with blood. He removed his shirt to reveal where the blood was coming from. A scar covered most of the space between his shoulder blades, wicked and odd shaped. The center of it had been reopened to show a deep sword wound. Golden light weaved between both sides of the wound.

"Whatever place I had among the People vanished long ago."

Nimwen's eyes widened as she stared at the wound. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing, I tripped and fell onto my back," Inan laughed. He replaced his shirt.

"Inan," Nimwen pleaded.

He pulled back on his cape. "What? What?" he asked, voice cheery once more. "Oh, you're food is getting cold. Come eat."

"Food is not going to distract me," Nimwen said, even as she sat down. The soup smelled delicious, and she hadn't eaten in a while. "What caused that? No normal weapon, I assume." Her determined stare was ruined by the loud rumbling of her stomach.

"Eat," Inan urged with a soft laugh.

Her cheeks red, Nimwen gave in and dug into her soup. "You're wrong, you know?" she asked, tearing into her bread. "No matter what happened to you, you're still one of the People. That's not something anybody can take away from you. Not time, not Elgar'nan, not Falon'Din; not even yourself. You're born elvhen, and you die elvhen."

Inan grinned a silly little grin. He didn't speak.

Butter had moved over to her bowl and looked up, muzzle dripping with the soup.

Inan's gaze snapped to her as if her look had actually been words. The two of them stood, locked in a staring match.

Nimwen cocked her head. "Everything all right?"

"What? Yes, yes. We're fine!"

"So, what do you say? Is there anyway I can convince you to come with me?" Nimwen asked.

Inan looked at the ground and rubbed his head. "I suppose it depends on threads to be strung. What your mate thinks and how the final steps to freedom go."

"I'm not sure how Solas would play into this," Nimwen replied. "But he detests slavery over almost anything else, and would hardly have a reason to argue against the clan taking you in."

Inan didn't reply. Instead he poured more soup into her bowl.

"Inan, please, I know you don't like to answer questions, but I need to know. Why are you so hesitant? And if we do get out of here, where would you go if not with me?"

"I would," - Inan frowned then snapped his fingers - "travel! Yes, travel! And help people, all the people no matter the race." He nodded, hand on his narrow chin. "Yes, that sounds good. Then figure some way back to-" he cut off. "He-he." He laughed and rubbed his head. "Nevermind. Forget the last part."

"You sound like Mahvir," Nimwen smiled. "He's my son, stepson. He's always trying to help others."

"Oh." Inan blinked and frowned. "Guess that ideas taken," he joked.

"That doesn't mean you can't do it too!" Nimwen laughed. "Do you think there's only one do-gooder in the world?"

"Depends, which world are we talking about? This one, Thedas, I think it's called, or Elvhenan, or Elvhen'hamin, or Uth'Adahlenan?"

"'Uth'Adahlenan?' What was that?"

"Oh, um, it was." Inan frowned. "You don't know?" he seemed very confused about this. "But you know of Elvhen'hamin?"

"Yes," Nimwen nodded.

"But-but, how? What did you think the People were fleeing from? I don't understand. How can you know of one but not the place we fled?"

"So much has been lost," Nimwen explained. "The fall of Elvhenan already crippled our knowledge, but after the humans conquered us, almost everything was taken from us. Hardly any of our language is left, let alone our history."

Inan's eyes grew pained. "That's why," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." Inan flicked his hand, voice full of cheer. "It's nothing," he whispered.

"No, it's not nothing," Nimwen protested. "You can't keep shutting me out. You're all I have in this place, and I'm tired of your cryptic messages that leave me going insane trying to decipher them. You're all about threads, right? Well we have a lot of loose ones that you need to tie up before I pull my hair out."

"Err, I don't like talking about myself," Inan mumbled. "It's not a happy subject."

"Nobody likes talking about themselves," Nimwen said. "But you need not carry these burdens alone."

Inan took a deep breath and, finally, sat down across from Nimwen. "I'm what is nowadays called a dreamer," he started.

"So?" Nimwen asked.

"You're mate is a dreamer too, right? He told you what we can do, right?"

"Some things," Nimwen said. "Dreamers can enter the Fade at will, and control dreams. right?"

"Well, that's a very simple way of putting it," Inan stated. "A mage who is a dreamer can be placed into levels of power as such. Generally the more powerful the dreamer, the weaker of body or mind they are. Those of weak mind are killed quickly by twisted spirits. But those who survive and have any really talent as dreamers are the most powerful mages you will ever met.

"We can slip into the dreams of others and make them see what we want them to see. I imagine you knew this much, even if it wasn't told, it is sometimes easier on a dreamer to translate emotions through dreams."

"That's impressive," Nimwen said. It reminded her of the time she and Solas visited Haven in her dreams, where they shared their first kiss. "Fade tongue," she snickered to herself at the memory.

Inan blinked. "Yeah, I figured being mated to a dreamer would have such effects." He rubbed his head. "But turning dreams is only part of a dreamer's power. We can also kill people while they sleep. I don't mean cutting them from the Fade death but actually kill. We were once seen as the perfect assassins for this reason. The more powerful a dreamer was, the more they were feared or respected."

"I had no idea." It unnerved her to think that Solas was capable of such a thing, or anybody for that matter. The only threats one should have to face in dreams should be the demons of the Fade, and even they are quite enough to deal with.

"It's not something a dreamer does much of anymore. We're just as much at risk within the Fade as the person we kill or harm. What I am trying to say, is while I slept, I traveled through the Fade looking for those in need and would enter their dreams. Not to harm, but to help. I once spoke with a woman who called herself a Keeper of a Dalish Clan."

"Do you remember which clan?" Nimwen asked.

"She said her name was Deshanna of Clan Lavellan. Has every time I've spoken with her since as well. Why?"

"Deshanna?" Nimwen gasped. "You know Deshanna?"

"I just said that." Inan frowned, looking confused.

"She is my clan's keeper!"

"Okay…? Small Fade."

"Fate seems to have a sense of humor. It appears serendipity runs my life."

Inan frowned. "Well, that's all on me for now." His frown turned to a grin.

Nimwen couldn't help but smile back. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her stomach. She could feel it. Fluttering. "They're moving," she grinned. She looked down at her belly. "Finally awake, huh?"

Inan stood and picked up her empty bowl. He didn't ask if she wanted more. Instead he started to clean the dishes.

"They're a bit early to be honest," Nimwen told him. "I don't think I felt Lori until I was twenty weeks along. Then again, there are two of them."

Inan chuckled. "They're ready to be known," he joked. He then fell silent.

"That right? You two trying to make a scene already?" Nimwen joked. "Hopefully you two won't be too much to handle. Your sister is already a wild one."

Inan started to hum a tune under his breath. It was a sign he was no longer fully listening to her and was off in his own thoughts.

*~ x ~*

Nimwen sighed, the autumn air filling her lungs. The trees sung around her in the wind, leaves of gold and red dancing.

" _Da'len_?"

Nimwen whipped around, robes fluttering. "Who's there?" She watched as someone emerged from the bushes.

"There you are," the older elf smiled. "Your mother finished making dinner, and you'd best come back before your brother eats all the meat."

"Dad?"

The pieces of the puzzle weren't complete, but those she remembered were all there. Dark hair tied high on his head, blue scarf around his neck, Mythal's _vallaslin_ on his face. He was here.

Nimwen's eyes teared up. "Dad!" She sprinted across the clearing, leaves crunching beneath her. She threw her arms around him.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, _da'sulahn_. What's wrong?" That voice, once so hazy in her mind now perfectly clear.

"It's you, it's really you," she cried into his chest.

She felt his hand stroke her hair. "I've always been here, Nimwen. Both of us."

"I've-I've just missed you both so much," she sniffed. "So much has happened, I can't begin to explain it all. I-" The minute she opened her eyes, she felt the body against her disappear. She gasped, looking up. Her father was nowhere to be seen. "Dad?" she called out. Panic set in. No, he couldn't be gone. They'd barely had any time. He couldn't be gone. Not yet. "Dad!" she yelled. Her voice echoed through the woods. She started to run. Her eyes tore the forest apart. "Dad? Dad, please, come back!" she cried.

She turned a corner and skidded to a halt. Somebody was just up ahead. Long curly hair, that dress. Could it be…

"Mom?" Nimwen choked out. Even with her back turned, she knew it was her. She ran towards her, arm reaching. "Mom!" Joy and relief spread across her face. "You're here too! I found dad, but then he was gone and I-" Her hand reached out, but all she felt was wood. She stopped. Before her was nothing but a dead tree trunk. Nimwen blinked. "Mom?" Tears returned, but no longer those of happiness. She knelt before the dead tree, crying into her hands. "Mom, dad," she cried.

The soft sound of hooves against leaves crunched. "A dream showing fears of the past threaded with those of the future. You fear your children will grow without you as you did without your parents." It was the stronger, calm, familiar voice of Hellathen. The halla moved over to Nimwen. His muzzle warm on her shoulder. "Forgive me for not arriving earlier, dear one."

Nimwen's hand reached up to touch the halla's muzzle. "I'm so scared," she confessed. "If I'm gone, Solas will descend into his own despair, and what will become of Lori? She can't go through-through _that_." Tears ran down her face. "And what of my babies? Right now what chance do they have?"

Nimwen felt Hellathen's warmth wrap around her as the halla settled himself on the ground. His head rested to her right and hind legs to the left. "I can't pretend to know the future," he stated, "but I will say, never understatement a father's love for his children. Such a love is fierce and sharper than any blade. Your mate loves your daughter and you more than anything in this world."

"I know that." She leaned into the halla, soaking in the comfort of his presence. "But the more you love someone, the more pain they're capable of causing you. I don't want any of them to suffer because of me. I'm sick of causing others pain." She pulled her knees to her chest. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"If you would like, I can tell you how Lorien is doing," Hellathen informed her.

"You can?" Nimwen turned to face the creature. "Please, is she alright? What is going on with her?"

"I only know her dreams, dear one, but last night her pain had melted to joy. She told me of her brother and father playing a game with her. That she beat them at it." His ears twitched. "She was smiling and happy, but still wanted her ride around the glin."

Nimwen felt the smile on her face. To be able to hear confirmation that Lori was safe, was a relief like no other. And to hear Solas and Mahvir were together with her, playing. It was a simple thing, mundane, but to her it was what she'd always wanted for her family. She wished she could have been there with them.

" _Ma serannas,_ " she said to Hellathen.

"I wish I had more news for you. But I can't be in more than one dream at a time." Hellathen looked up at the trees. "If you wish we can remain in the forest tonight. You needn't see more of the past."

"I-I wish I could see them, if only for a little longer," Nimwen admitted. "But why do they leave? Everytime I dream of them, they always disappear. Why?"

"Dreams are reflections of our mind's subconsciousness. You lost them long ago and fear you will abandon your daughter in the way your parents did you," Hellathen explained. "They vanish because the dream is your fears coming to life before your eyes. A nightmare."

"I just want to see them again," Nimwen sniffed. "I was eight when they died, that's not too young to not remember. But when I try to remember their faces they are just… blurry. Like looking through a dirty window. I started to forget what they sounded like, but then I hear them in the dreams and it all comes back and-" she breathed in. "Why can't I remember? How could I start to forget them? I have so many memories of us as a family, but when I try to actually picture those times Sin and I are clear, but they are just _blurs_."

"You can spend centuries in dreams and never get back the face and voice of a loved one," Hellethen started. "You're missing what is really important, that you remember the time they gave you. Even if what they looked and sounded like fades away, you still remember the truest form of them. Their warmth and love for you."

"You're, you're right," Nimwen stuttered. "A-and there are still things I can see of them. Sinderon, h-he looks just like dad. Long face, th-that big nose of his," Nimwen chuckled. "We-we have our mom's eyes. And Lori, her hair is just like mom's, all thick and wavy. Mom had a braid thick as my fist."

"You see, you do remember them."

"I do, and e-even if it isn't clear, they're still in my brother and I, and Lori, and they'll be in the twins." Nimwen patted Hellethan's side. " _Ma serannas_ for helping me see."

Hellethan bowed his head. "Now, I believe you had questions about the past." He stood. "About the past of the man you're sharing a cell with?"

"Inan? Yes, the man is so cryptic. I know there is so much more to him but he refuses to say anything," Nimwen groaned. "Not to mention the fact that he looks so much like Solas. I have no idea who he is, yet I know I need to know."

Hellethan blinked. "It happens part of the past I was to show you has to do with him. If you so wish we can start at the beginning of the tale rather than moving backwards through it like we were."

"Yes, please," Nimwen nodded.

"Follow." Hellethan moved off and she followed, the autumn woods changed to a lush, thick forest. Mist clung to the air, growing thicker and thicker as they moved. Then Hellethan stopped.

In the distance, Nimwen could see a figure stirring on the ground. The man moved to his knees, the armor he wore clicking with his movement.

"Who is that?" she asked.

The mist eased back as the sun started to rise in the distance. With its light came a heavy, familiar scent of decaying flesh. The helm the elf wore fell from his head. It revealed a familiar face of Inan. He stared up at the trees, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Corpses of elvhen were pinned to the trees by spears. Blood flowed down the moss covered trunks as waterfalls. Inan's eyes fell from the trees to the forest floor. Bodies surrounded where he knelt in a ring. All wore another style of armor than his but it was clear they were elvhen just like him.

"W-what?" he whispered. He lifted his hand and touched the closest elf. His hand was coated with blood. "What?" Tears of horror filled his eyes.

"What happened to him?" The look of despair in his eyes hit Nimwen in the heart. She wanted to run and comfort him, let him know he wasn't alone; but this was the Fade, and this scene before her was a phantom of a time long ago.

Movement came from the far side of the space. A familiar cat slunk through the corpses, blue eyes locked on Inan. The cat stopped close to Inan and hissed. "Murderer!" Her fur spiked.

"I-I did this?" Inan whispered.

"Butter?" Nimwen's jaw dropped. "What is that cat doing here?"

"She is no cat," Hellethan stated.

Inan was shaking. He stared at the cat then turned his gaze on his hands. He staggered back when he made to stand and fell over one of the corpses. "I did this. Didn't I?" A scream tore from him. He raced into the forest and Butter raced after him.

Nimwen and Hellethan didn't have to move as the memory played out before them. The forest changed with Inan's movements. He pushed his way through the thicket. His armor caught in a thorn bush. He staggered and fell.

"What will running do?" Butter's voice sounded from the tree above Inan. "It won't bring them back."

"What happened?" Inan shouted at the cat. "Please, what did I do?" Desperation leaked into his voice. "I-I remember pain." Tears slid down his face. "Then nothing, I woke there. What happened. Please tell me!"

"Poor Inan." Nimwen's heart went out to him. "Hellethan, what did happen to him?"

"I don't know," Hellethan stated. "There are no memories old enough to explain what happened this day."

"You mean this is his first memories?" That just made his life all the more tragic. To not remember your past, and to have your first memories be ones of death and blood. It was not something Nimwen would wish on anyone.

Butter straightened, eyes cold as she looked down on Inan. "Is this a joke?" she asked. "No, I feel only fear and horror in your mind. Who are you?" she demanded. "Tell me your name."

"My name?" He sounded all the more confused by this. "I don't know. What's yours?" he asked.

"I am Faith!"

"But there are a lot of Faiths?"

Butter hissed. "I am the oldest Faith."

"A spirit of faith?" Now at least she knew how the cat had survived this long.

"Um, can I call you Butter instead?" Inan asked.

Faith hissed again. "This isn't a game. Tell me what you remember."

"I told you, pain and then nothing." Inan shivered. He looked back the way he had come.

Nimwen snorted. "He meets the oldest Faith spirit, and names it Butter." It appeared that his eccentricities started early.

Faith narrowed her eyes and hopped down from the tree. "What does your heart tell you happened?" she asked, voice softer now.

Inan blinked and closed his eyes. "I," - he squeezed his eyes shut harder - "don't know. I can't remember."

"Your heart, not your head."

Pain appeared on Inan's face. "I killed them," he whispered. "But why?" He fell to his knees. "Please, I don't know what to do."

"What does your heart say about that?" Faith asked.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Inan whispered. He bowed his head.

"Then have faith in your power and use it to heal instead of harm."

"My power?"

"His power?" Nimwen asked.

"I don't understand, Butter. What power?" Inan asked.

"Faith," she stated. "My name is Faith, not Butter."

"Butter."

"Faith!"

He gave a shy, pained smile. "I still don't understand."

Faith snorted. "You just need to follow your heart this time and not your head." She padded off.

"Eh?" Inan leapt to his feet and struggled out of the armor which was caught on the bush. "Wait up. What do you mean?" He moved after Faith. "Butter, please, explain."

"Faith!" she snapped. "And no."

"At least tell me my name if you know it."

Faith stopped and narrowed her eyes. "You can't see."

"Pardon?"

"Leave me alone, old elf. Bug someone in a village if you want to find your name." She padded away.

"What do mean by that, Butter?"

"Grab your armor, replace it, and walk into the nearest village. They'll know you."

"I don't like the sound of that." Inan shivered.

"Why wouldn't she just tell him?" Nimwen asked Hellethan. "Seems rather cruel to make him do it himself."

"I don't know. She never told him anything outside of this," Hellethan stated.

Inan continued after Faith. "Can't I come with you? Help you in your work as a spirit?"

Faith flicked her tail. "No."

"I promise I won't be a bother, Butter."

"You already are a bother."

"But your fur is the color of butter. There are so many spirits of Faith. Why don't you want a name of your own?"

Faith stopped one paw raised. She blinked and turned to Inan. "I never thought of that," she stated. "Butter?" Her whiskers twitched a little. "Amusing, whimsical, all right, I will keep it."

Nimwen chuckled. "I take it this was just the beginning for them?"

Hellethan bowed his head.

"Perhaps your eyes see further than I thought." Butter paced around Inan. "All right, I will call you Inan for now."

"I can stay with you then?" Inan asked.

Butter settled herself on her hunches. "If you promise to follow your own heart and not listen to the fools trying to kill one another."

"What? What fools? Where?" Inan spun around.

Butter purred. "They're not around us." She then leapt up a tree. "One thing I will give you is this knowledge, Inan. You are older than even the fools know."

"What?" Inan looked confused.

"None of this makes sense, who was he, and why wouldn't Butter tell him?" Nimwen asked.

"I don't know. Like I said, this is the oldest memory I can find," Hellethan stated. "There are no spirits left outside of Faith who are old enough to remember."

"How old am I?" Inan shouted after Butter. "Wait up!" He raced over the ground after Butter who could be seen leaping between branches.

"Perhaps you can ask Faith yourself," Hellethan stated. He turned and the images of the past faded. "Though, I doubt she will be forthcoming."

"I can be persuasive if I try," Nimwen assured him. She was going to get some answers, if not from Inan, then from the spirit herself.

* * *

 _Len'alas lath'din_ \- dirty child who no one loves

 _Uth'Adahlenan_ \- Land of the Eternal Forest

* * *

Song translation:

Honored one's end  
Now People fade  
To go to shadow  
Slowly to shadow

Where not love dwells  
People fade to shadow  
Where not peace dwells  
Shadow becomes eternity

My blood cries for freedom  
To believe to dream  
Deep in sorrow my children dwell  
Where the shadow ones come

My children come in victory  
One of pride  
One of vengeance  
Children of my love come to joy

* * *

 **Flamewing:** Yeah, the song is original from me. Also, sorry about the delay.


	15. Chapter 15

**Shout out to Yasangigirl for the comment.**

* * *

Falon'Din removed his mask when he entered his rooms within the keep. His eyes narrowed with a forced rage as he crossed the dark space. That little mortal dared speak to him in such away. Granted, she was the mate to Fen'Harel. Perhaps it shouldn't have been so shocking.

Falon'Din stopped and placed the mask on a table beside him. His eyes moved to the only mirror in the room. Even in the darkness he could see his distorted features. His upper lip was completely gone and a scar moved up his face to his hairline. In places bone glinted through and his nose was gone. The only skin remaining which was somewhat good was his jaw and the scarred flesh around his eyes.

"Insect," Falon'Din hissed. Even as he did this he felt something other than contempt or anger stir deep in him. Regret, pain; sorrow. He shoved these emotions aside. The insect would pay for all he had done to Falon'Din and for aiding the traitor in destroying their world. Dirthamen would, right?

Falon'Din heard the door open followed by footsteps.

"Lord Overseer, sir."

A hiss escaped Falon'Din. He replaced his mask. "Told you to never enter without knocking first!" he growled.

"F-forgive me, Overseer," the mortal stammered. He quickly bowed, the hood of his robe flapping over his head. "W-we've received news on the whereabouts of the girl."

"Well?"

"The clan was last seen in Nevarra. By their movements, they may be heading here."

"Let them come. They'll bring to the girl to our doorstep." Falon'Din turned from the human fool.

"We also have agents tracking them, and others near the border. They would be able to mount an ambush, b-but only at your behest, Lord Overseer."

Falon'Din's eyes narrowed. "Have them hold. Let the clan believe they're safe for now."

"Very well," the human bowed. "We shall still have agents tracking them in the meantime. We cannot allow the seed of the Herald to escape our sight."

Pathetic mortal. "I never said stop tracking them." Falon'Din turned on the human, rage simmering in him. "Make certain they are coming our way."

The man shrunk at Falon'Din's words. "Y-yes, Overseer, sir, of course, Lord, sir."

"Leave, now." Falon'Din's voice was low. The words hissed between his teeth with barely contained, forced rage.

The mortal squeaked, then bowed. "Yes ,sir, Lord Overseer, sir." Quickly the human retreated, his Harbinger robes fluttering behind him as he rushed to escape the elf's ire.

Falon'Din watched him go before he turned back to the mirror. For a heartbeat another figure appeared next to him, his shadow. Falon'Din turned, but Dirthamen wasn't there.

No!

Falon'Din closed his eyes. He wouldn't think of his brother. He wasn't his brother. He was the bastard son of his uncle and mother. Falon'Din collapsed to his knees, hands over his ears.

"You're not my brother," he whispered. "You're not."

"Struggling again?"

Falon'Din stood.

While he had been on the ground, Elgar'nan had entered the room and now sat in the throne like chair there. His father's eyes blazed as a fire in the darkness. "You can't waver, Falon'Din." His voice as the soft snapping of flames.

"I'm not." Falon'Din turned away from his father. He strode from the room, leaving his father alone. He wasn't wavering and would prove it by finding some way to kill his- the insect.

Falon'Din found himself heading for the cell his "aunt" and _he_ shared. Falon'Din entered and closed the door as quietly as he could. Nimwen was asleep on the bed as he had expected her to be given the late hour. His eyes moved to the floor where Inan always slept.

The old man was awake, sitting upright. Inan didn't speak, only looked across the room at Falon'Din.

Falon'Din looked back into the eyes of oldest known elf. His heart tugged with the familiar longing to spill all his secrets to this old elf. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on his pale gaze.

"Second thoughts?" Inan asked, voice nothing like that which he used when Elgar'nan was around. "You've had a lot of them since waking." His voice was calm, strong, and, almost, comforting. It reminded Falon'Din of the way his uncle and mother had been when his name had been Falon.

"Of course not," Falon'Din hissed. He bared his teeth, not that it was easy to see through his mask.

"No matter how hard you try to run from it, Dirthamen is still your twin. The little brother you once tried to do everything in your power to protect. You can't run from the thread of truth and the love which dwells in your heart."

"Silence!" Falon'Din snapped. "I didn't come here to hear your platitudes, old man."

"No, you came here to ease your pain one way or another. But your pain can't be eased through copying your father. You've tried his way for centuries. Why not try your own way for once?"

Falon'Din strode across the room and took hold of the old elf's collar. The man weighed very little and it was easy to pin him to the wall. "Silence." Energy coursed through Falon'Din's body. Just being near this ancient one was enough to feel as if he had fallen back into a time before the Veil. Strength coursed through his body and he wanted to drink deep of the power this man's frail body offered him.

"You know your father's hatred is too deep now. There is nothing left but his rage and lust for revenge." Inan looked calm despite being held. "There is still love in you. Still the gentle child who wanted to play the flute to the animals. Still remnants of the boy who would protect and guide them as they lay dying. You are not your father."

Falon'Din growled and press the man into the wall. "Shut up," he hissed, voice low.

"You play with people's lives like their your personal puppets to please him. You don't need to please him, Falon. You can live your own life."

"What life?" Falon'Din demanded. He ripped off his mask with his free hand. "Look at me. _He_ took everything from me."

"Dirthamen took only that which you clung to the most. You aren't defined by how you look, but by your actions."

"Shut up." Falon'Din snapped Inan's neck.

The man fell to the ground.

Falon'Din took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He drank in the power which rushed into the room. It flowed both into him and into Inan. He could hear Inan's neck snap as the golden light flew around him.

The first time he had killed Inan by mistake he had learned the man's truth. He was bound eternally to the Fade. It was a part of him as if he were a spirit or a demon, but it was more than this. The Fade had locked the ancient elf into a state of life, but the first wound the man knew of which had been meant to kill him, was locked in a state between, reopening each time Falon'Din killed him. And sealing by the next morning.

"You feed off my death," Inan gasped. "Each time, taking power you don't understand." His voice was ragged.

"Even shackled with your power being drained, you could have everything in the world." Falon'Din replaced his mask and glared down at Inan. "Yet, you never act."

"Power never brings happiness, Falon," Inan stated.

"As if you're happy," Falon'Din snarled. "You've lost everything over and over again. You are pathetic."

"A man who has everything and looks back on his life, says he regrets. A man who has nothing, has the world for they know what to truly place value in. One day, it is my hope you see this, Falon."

Falon'Din glared down at Inan. He turned and scoffed, "This coming from a man who let us lock him up." He glared over his shoulder. "What are you really planning, ancient?"

"Ancient? I am no longer 'old man' or 'old fool.' Hmm, quite polite of you, Falon."

"Silence, you old fool!" Falon'Din screamed in rage as he whipped around.

"What's going on?" Nimwen was awake and sitting up. When her eyes found Falon'Din, they widened, before narrowing. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Oh, he's being ever so polite. Came in for a little talk." Inan's voice had lightened, becoming annoyingly cheery. "Well, polite until he screamed and woke you."

"I will find out," Falon'Din growled. "You will-" he broke off with a glance at the mortal girl.

"My, my, I will what? I am your prisoner, Falon."

"What is your plan, Falon'Din?" Nimwen stood, arms crossed. "You take me, yet do nothing with me, and you go after my daughter too. Why? What do you seek to gain from us?"

Falon'Din looked at the mortal woman. His gaze moved to the child she carried. If he had been his uncle's child and not his father's would his life be different? His heart ached as he remembered all the games he had made to try and surprise his uncle. How Solas had played along, teased, and shown him more affection than his father ever had. All he had ever wanted was for his father to see him as Solas had. To accept the fact Falon'Din loved music, not torch him for it. Then Solas had destroyed everything. Taken his brother from him by turning out to be Dirthamen's father. Rage and pain seared Falon'Din's heart.

Falon'Din glared at the mortal woman. "You are puppet to torment him. Nothing more or less, _aunt_." He turned on his heel and moved towards the door.

"You don't believe that," Inan's words were soft.

Falon'Din stopped before the door. Were Inan's words true?

"Please, Falon'Din, if you have any heart left in you, end this," Nimwen said. "Whatever you plan on doing, is it really going to fix everything? Do you honestly believe that?"

Falon'Din bared his teeth, hand shaking on the door handle as the rage coursed through him. "You only know what Uncle, what _Fen'Harel_ has told you of me!" he snapped. "You don't know me or the pain I've endured. What can a mere mortal know of us?!" He turned on her.

"Falon!" Inan was between them. His hand raised.

"That may be so." Nimwen stared him down, eyes burning with determination. "I may be a mortal, and I may not know all that has transpired over the centuries, but I do know family. I know that no family is perfect, and strife comes with the territory. I know vengeance and grudges are nothing but poison, and leaves wounds worse than the ones you hide behind that mask. And I have seen enough to let me know what kind of _god_ you are." She spat the word as if it was foul. "The kind of god that would stab his brother and use his own blood to leave your marks. You don't fool me, Falon'Din. Once I sent prayers to you but no longer. You are selfish and petty. The kind of man who would turn on his brother when he needed him the most!"

Dirthamen.

Falon'Din felt her words lash at him. "You," Falon'Din tried to growl, but the word broke. He remembered the moment she spoke of. Remembered going to his father upon learning Dirthamen wasn't his full blooded twin and his father had told him what to do. Then when he couldn't find Dirthamen right after, how he had been desperate to show his father loyalty. "You know nothing." Falon'Din turned and left the room. He slammed the door behind him, locking it.

Dirthamen.

The pain welled in his heart. Falon'Din touched the mask he wore. His brother had done this to him, but he knew he had done far worse to Dirthamen.

He wanted to impress his father. Dirthamen was an insect. The product of disloyalty. Falon'Din would never betray his father. _Never_! Right?

*~ X ~*

"Are you all right?" Nimwen asked Inan. "What did he want?"

Inan turned to Nimwen. Even in the darkness of the room, she could see his pale gaze was worried. "The puppet master isn't what you think he is," Inan stated in soft tones. "I get you're upset with him, but, please, refrain from talking to him the next time he comes in without the flames."

"'Upset'? He's kidnapped me and plans to do horrible things to me _and_ my children, of course I'm upset! And what do you mean he's not what I think he is?"

A small breath escaped Inan. He rubbed his eyes. "Since he was a boy, the Puppet Master has tried desperately to gain his father's love. He will do anything to prove himself to the Flames, but, the problem is, Elgar'nan is a sociopath, incapable of feeling love. He has manipulated Falon'Din his entire life. All Elgar'nan can feel is rage."

"I…" That explained a few things. However, the moment Nimwen started to feel inklings of sympathy, she remembered his arms holding her back in the woods, his voice cruel and taunting in her ear. "It still doesn't forgive what he's done," Nimwen responded.

"No, it doesn't," Inan agreed. "But he has a right to try and make up for the mistakes of his life." Inan smiled. "I'm not asking for you to play nice with the man, my lady, only to not speak with him the next time he comes in alone." Inan turned. He had taken a few steps towards the blankets he slept on when he stopped. "Lady Nimwen," he started, "if Falon hasn't come around by the time your mate comes for you, I won't be leaving with you."

"That's why you won't leave?" It all made sense now. "You're trying to help him?"

Inan bowed his head, not turning to her. "Understand, when the Veil was torn, it did more than just disrupt this new world. It allowed Falon'Din to break free of the prison and thus break out Elgar'nan. But it also woke me. When the the Veil tore a second time, I was able to come to the mortal world. I had a choice of what to do then. I could head for your group to heal wounds which were deep within both you and your mate or let Elgar'nan and Falon'Din capture me. I chose the pain which is older and has less chance to heal because you could heal the world and your mate."

"That was incredibly selfless," she replied. "You honestly think there is a chance you can get Falon'Din to see reason?"

Inan gave a small almost bitter laugh. "I suppose it sounds selfless and I wish it was the truth. As for the fate of Falon'Din, I don't know. He is so deeply rooted in his loyalty to his father and belief if he tries to drown out who he himself is, he can gain his father's affection, he could be far beyond help."

Nimwen sighed. "I'm sorry, this couldn't have been easy for you," she said. "Very well, I will hold my tongue, but if either of them try to hurt you again, I _will_ speak up. Magic or no magic, I refuse to be silent when my friends are hurt."

Inan turned to her, eyes soft. "You don't understand, but still to ask you not to would be as pointless as trying to die." He bowed his head. For a brief moment, there was none of the cheery man she had seen this past month in his words. The tone was stronger, calmer; _ancient_. Then he smiled and clapped his hands together. "I will get breakfast ready." And the almost foolish man had returned in a blink of the eye.

The soft hum of the man's breakfast song started to fill the air as he flitted about.

Butter leapt up onto the table and stretched, yawning.

Nimwen eyed the cat-no _spirit_ \- with a new perspective. "Good morning, Butter," she said. "Or should I say, Faith?"

"I much prefer Butter. I've grown rather fond of the whimsical name over the long centuries." She arched her back, still stretching out long limbs.

"You aren't surprised I know you're a spirit?" Nimwen asked.

"It was only a matter of time before you realized it." Butter sat back on her haunches and licked her paw. She drew it over her ear. "You have questions?" she asked.

Inan continued to work, humming the cheery tune as he prepared the food. He didn't seem to be listening to them.

"I know how you met Inan," Nimwen said. "What I don't understand is why you didn't tell him who he was, you knew didn't you?"

"Oh, I am well aware of who he is and he knows I know," Butter stated. Her gaze was intense as she looked at Nimwen. "What you must understand is, I keep what I know from him for a very good reason. He's well aware of my reasons, are you not, Inan?"

Inan stopped what he was doing. "Hmm, what was that, Butter?"

Butter narrowed her eyes. "I know you were listening."

"Oh, that. Yes, yes, I know." He started to chop the fresh seasonings brought in for them. He wasn't humming now though. Instead he focused on the meal. "I can tune you out, Butter. I know how much you want to tell the dear lady certain matters."

Butter hissed.

"Oh, so nice of you."

"Why would you not want to know?" Nimwen asked. "None of this makes any sense."

Inan bowed his head. "I once wanted to know," he stated. "But, who I am now is what matters, not who I once was."

"I guess I can understand that," Nimwen said. She turned to Butter. "It still doesn't explain what was so important about keeping his identity away from him."

Butter leapt down from the table and padded over to the bed. She hopped up so that she stood closer to Nimwen. Even without magic, Nimwen could feel the barrier form around them. "We can now speak in private, young elf." Butter settled herself on the bed and tucked her paws under her. "Ask your questions."

Nimwen raised a brow. "Okay. Well, the one I've been asking would be a good place to start."

"The truth then. Inan is old, older than even I am," Butter stated. "There isn't a spirit or demon left in the Fade who could match him in age. To put it plainly, he is the very first elvhen."

"The _first_?" Nimwen glanced in Inan's direction. According to the spirit, there stood the beginning of her people. "That's, that's amazing. How is he the first- where did he come from?"

Butter purred. "Your People were born of the mortal realm and the Fade, bound to it in ways even we spirits don't understand. I came from the first beliefs of your People or, more over, Inan's faiths so I don't know the full story on how he came about. Just that I know it had to do with the way the world worked back then."

"And he was the first." This was hard to believe. "Does he know?"

"No," Butter stated, "and he never can. What you must understand is Inan loves all people, spirits, and demons. He must continue to believe at one point in his life he had a happy childhood with parents who loved and cared for him. A place he once belonged. If he loses this belief, he could revert to what he was before he lost his memory. It isn't something this world could survive."

"Very well, I won't say anything," she agreed. "Can I ask something else?"

Butter bowed her head. "You may."

"Why does Inan look like Solas?" It was what she'd been wondering all this time, and hopefully she could get some answers.

Butter purred in laughter. "If Inan wanted to reveal this, he would have. That is his secret to share, young elf, not mine."

Nimwen pouted. "Come on," she groaned. "This has been driving me mad for a month and I can't figure it out!"

Butter blinked. "Inan has lost much. If you knew the answer to your question it would cause greater pain to both you and him. He wishes only for the best outcome for you. I will tell you this, the reason his faith in himself has dimensioned has to do with the answer to your question."

More riddles, more vague replies. Nimwen was growing tired of them. "Will I ever get to learn?"

Butter purred in laughter, her whiskers twitching. "If I knew the answer to this question, I wouldn't be a spirit of Faith." She looked towards Inan. "What I will tell you, is no matter how hard one tries, no secret remains buried forever."

It was as good an answer as she was going to get. Nimwen knew this, yet it did not help sooth the itch of curiosity within her. She sighed. "Very well," she conceded. "I won't bring it up any more."

"You've my sincerest thanks for that, Nimwen." Butter bowed her head. "Now, let's focus on that bacon Inan's making." She leapt from the bed. The barrier vanished the moment the spirit moved.

Nimwen chuckled. "Bacon solves everything?"

"It is quite the wonder," Butter stated. "The taste is strong and delicious. Inan makes it crispy but not burnt. I've grown rather fond of the food."

"It was one of my favorite new foods I discovered when I left my clan," Nimwen said. "That and all the desserts they have. There are so many, I thought the Dalish made good dessert, but then I found chocolate."

Inan made a face. "Chocolate is interesting, but I would rather have sweetcakes and vanilla over it." He chuckled. "Though, you should see when Butter has chocolate."

Butter gave a disgruntled meow. "It was only once." She held her head high as if trying to maintain some dignity. "I do believe the child learned to not give a cat chocolate after that."

"You were bouncing everywhere, nearly clawed," he trailed off, voice distant and sad.

Nimwen laughed. "Wonder what would happen if you had iced cream. It's a Dalish specialty."

Butter licked her lips. "Oh, I would love to try it sometime. If it's anything like cream," she purred at the thought of cream. Her eyes now distant. "I do so miss getting cream every day. That warrior of yours was so very kind to bring it to me."

Inan lowered the pan, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

"What warrior?" Nimwen asked.

"My mate," Inan whispered, voice pained.

Nimwen's smile fell. "Oh." By his voice alone she knew the condition of his mate.

"Have faith, Inan," Butter told him. "Not all is lost."

Inan laughed. "True, true." He grinned at Butter then at Nimwen. "Breakfast is served, Lady Nimwen." He moved to the table with her plate before he gave Nimwen a deep, rather goofy bow.

" _Ma serannas,_ master cook," Nimwen smirked with a curtsy.

"You are too kind." Inan gathered a small plate of his own. It was then Nimwen realized just how little Inan actually ate. He didn't look underweight, but the amounts boarded on what Mahvir took.

"Inan, are you sure that's all you want?" Nimwen inquired.

Inan blinked and frowned. He then glanced at his plate. "Something wrong with it?" he asked, head tilted to one side. "I know it's small, but I don't need," he hesitated, "a lot."

"Well, you certainly need more than that." Nimwen crossed her arms. "You need to eat more."

"Umm, well, you see I don't actually need food anymore," he mumbled, shifting a little. "My connection to the Fade, it, well, it sort of sustains me. I eat because I want to taste food." He looked at the plate with such a sad expression on his face.

"Really?" Seeing him eat so little had triggered memories of getting Mahvir to eat, and she jumped on it just to feel something familiar. Now she worried she'd made him feel bad. " _Ir abelas_ , it's a habit of mine. I've dealt with someone who doesn't eat enough," she explained.

Inan nodded. "You needn't apologize for it it." He smiled. "I'm not really normal and it's something that's hard to get used to." He moved over to the table. "At least the food still tastes great!" He took a bit of the pancake.

"Food tastes good even if you don't need it," Butter stated from where she had taken a few pieces of bacon. She purred and licked one of the pieces before crunching down on it. "Salt, fat, and meat." Her whiskers twitched. "So good."

"You need to eat since you're in a cat's body," Inan pointed out with a pout.

"Spoiling my joy in the bacon this morning, Inan." Butter flicked her ears back. "You're too kind." She nibbled the bacon with grace and dignity, but still with enthusiasm it was clear what the spirit was doing. She was rubbing it in Inan's face she needed food.

Inan glared back at her. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in." Inan turned his attention back to Nimwen. "She's rather chatty. I hope you don't mind."

"I beg your pardon. I am not!" Butter puffed out her chest.

Nimwen laughed. "You don't know chatty until you have a toddler," she said, joining them at the table. "You should have been around when Lori went through her 'why' phase. Butter would have seemed mute in comparison."

Butter purred.

There was a smile on Inan's face at the way Nimwen describe her daughter. "She sounds like a lovely child. Full of life and question." His eyes were hollowed with pain. The pain vanished with he took a bite of his food.

"She is," Nimwen replied, studying his face. "Are you all right, Inan?"

"What? Of course, I was just thinking what it would have been like to have raised a toddler." He gave a sheepish laugh and rubbed the back of his head. "It sounds interesting." His eyes widened. "Not that I will raise a toddler!" he added quickly. "No, no, I don't plan on ever having a mate again." He flushed. "My apologies, I must sound like a raving mad man. Well, more so than normal."

"No, no, it's fine, I understand," Nimwen assured him. "Besides, I'm sure Butter gives you enough trouble already, huh?" she teased.

Butter let out a small hiss. "I do not," she denied. "If anyone is a pain, it's Inan."

"What? What did I do?" Inan demanded.

"You know what you did."

"Come now, Butter, be nice." Inan smiled at the cat, but the smile seemed forced.

Something seemed to have triggered this sudden decrease in his mood, and it had something do with Lori. She remembered what he had told her before, of losing his family. Her heart panged, and she decided not to press him, lest she open more old wounds.

"The food is delicious, as usual," she said, putting on a smile.

"I'm happy to hear you like it!" Inan grinned. "Your little hearts seem to be happier now you've eaten."

"Of course, nothing makes a woman happier than a man who can cook," Nimwen winked.

Inan blinked. "Solas can cook?" he asked, sounding perplexed by this. He turned his gaze on Butter.

"Don't look at me," Butter mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. "Blame someone else."

Inan puffed out his cheeks in defiant rage. "I wasn't blaming you, Butter!" he defended himself.

Nimwen paused. "Now that you mention it, I don't think Solas has ever made us food." She was curious whether or not he could cook. Then again, with the skill Mahvir had at cooking, surely Solas knew how. "Then again, I much prefer cooking for others than being cooked for," she shrugged.

"That's a sign of a good cook!" Inan picked up his empty plate. "That and eating your weight each day," he joked.

Butter sniffed.

"I'll probably be doing a lot of that," she said, patting her growing belly. "If this pregnancy is anything like Lori's. then I'll soon be eating you out of house and home."

"More to cook!" Inan clapped, giddy with excitement.

"Just be ready for the cravings," she joked.

"I am!"

*~ x ~*

Snow had turned to a cold rain the closer they drew to the sea. With the last city behind them it was easier to follow closer to the coast to see where the clan was heading. Sinderon was scouting in the chilly downpour with Solas.

"I did not expect you to want to go on a scouting trip," Sinderon said. Quite frankly, he was surprised his soon to be brother-through-bonding would go ten feet away from Lori, let alone accompany him on a scouting run.

Solas didn't speak. He moved further up the coast line. Water poured down the hood of his armor. He had forgone the robe when the snow had turned to rain. He moved as silent as a wolf stalking prey.

Sinderon raised a brow. It was not often he was the one met with silence during a conversation. A gust of wind sent chills up his spine. He wore a cloak over his hunting gear, but the rain had already started to soak through that. His braided hair was wet and felt icy against his back. He was never a fan of the rain, and right now it only soured his mood. His ears perked up.

"Wait," he whispered to Solas.

Solas had stopped before Sinderon had spoken. He dropped low. There was little noise as he pulled his staff from his back.

Though faint, Sinderon recognized the sound. _'Bear.'_ But it wasn't the normal roar of a bear. This one was pained, wild. The hunter turned to Solas, nodding towards the direction of the sound, a silent request to investigate.

"It was death cry," Solas whispered, speaking at last. He nodded in return and started towards the sound. His staff held before him.

Sinderon followed behind, pulling his bow from his back. Anything that could take down a bear was worth investigating, especially if it posed a risk to the clan. He and Solas quietly made their way along the coast. Sinderon clicked at Solas. "Hear that?" In the distance was what sounded like someone yelling.

Solas nodded. He straightened. "We had best approach as normal."

The two continued on. Just as they passed over a small hill, they were met by a peculiar sight. A large grizzly bear lay dead with an arrow in its neck. Beside the fallen beast was an armor-clad elf leaning against a rock.

"Mythal's fucking tits!" the elf hissed as he pressed what appeared to be a burlap sack to his side.

"What happened here?" Sinderon asked as he approached.

"Little shit tried getting the jump on me," the man replied, unfazed by the sudden arrivals. "Took him out, but the bastard got my side."

"What is a Grey Warden doing out here?" Solas asked in a stiff voice.

Sinderon turned to Solas. "Warden?"

"His armor," Solas stated, gesturing towards the gleaming griffon emblazoned on the chestplate of the man's armor. There was a hint to disdain in Solas's voice as he spoke of the warden.

"Your friend's right," the warden replied, struggling to stand. "As for what I'm doing, that's top secret-ow, stupid claws," he groaned.

"I have bandages," Sinderon said, digging into his bag.

The warden sighed. " _Ma serannas_ , better than this thing."

The use of elvish piqued Sinderon's interest. As he went to hand the man the bandages, he took the time to see if he face bore any _vallaslin_. His eyes widened. The hunter dropped the bandages as he staggered back. "Creators!"

Solas moved up and took out fresh bandages. "Here." He held them out to the warden. "What's wrong, _da'len_?" Solas turned his shadowed gaze on Sinderon.

Sinderon barely heard Solas. His heart was pounding and he felt ready to faint. He managed to croak out a single word. "D-dad?" That was impossible though, wasn't it? His father was dead, he saw him buried with his mother. Yet, this warden looked exactly like him.

Said warden sputtered. "Come again?"

Hold on, something was off. His father couldn't raise one brow, it was always two. And this one's hair was wrong. His father's hair was long, this one had a ponytail and shaved sides. That _vallaslin_ was wrong too! His father bore Mythal's marks, this one had Andruil's. What was going on?

Then it clicked. The pieces fell into place. The one other person with his father's face. "Uncle Bora?"

The warden's eyes widened. "Wait a minute… Sindy?" A wide grin spread across his cheeks. "By the Creators, it is you, isn't it?"

Sinderon was pulled into a bear hug, one he reciprocated gladly.

"I can't believe it's little Sindy in the flesh! Well, not so little anymore, damn, what are they feeding you?"

"I can't believe it." This was unbelievable, how was this happening?

"My, oh my, you really have grown up." Bora took a step back and looked Sinderon up and down. "What happened to the sprout who followed me around? Looks like you ate him."

Sinderon smiled, even as tears filled his eyes.

"This is great and all, but you're losing blood," Solas stated to the warden. "Or are you planning on enacting the sacrifice part of your code here, _da'len_?"

Bora laughed. "No, if I'm going out, there has to be booze, strumpets, a dragon, and at _least_ five bears involved. I have standards."

Sinderon chuckled. It was just as he remembered, Bora always cracking jokes.

Solas scowled. "Hold still." The older elf moved around Bora and placed his hand over the wound. A soft, green light came from his hand. The blood stopped and the wound sealed a little. "Here." He pressed the bandages into Bora's hand. "I will continue scouting, Sinderon. You can take," he paused, "your uncle back to the camp for treatment." Without waiting for a response, Solas strode off.

"Who was that guy?" Bora asked.

Sinderon sighed. "My brother-through-bonding."

Bora's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"It's a long story."

"Well call yourself _hahren_ because you're going to be a storyteller right now," the warden demanded.

Sinderon took the bandages from Bora and started to unwind them. "All right, I'll start from the beginning."

* * *

 **Flame:** Falon'Din is one of the most contradictory in the codex entries. He has the nature in some as a protector and guide, then Solas tells the Inquisitor Falon'Din committed mass murder to try and amass more followers. Also, random family member appears! Bora is Herenya's character.


	16. Chapter 16

Solas returned to the Dalish camp near sunset. They had stopped tonight to make camp after having crossed through the last of the mountains they had made good time through the edge of Nevarra. Solas's gaze fell over where Sinderon stood with the Grey Warden. They were speaking with Keeper Deshanna. A small breath escaped him as he crossed the camp towards them.

Solas stopped just close enough to the group it was clear he was waiting on the keeper. But, he was just far enough away he wasn't part of their conversation.

"Glad to see nothing much has changed," Bora said.

Deshanna scowled. "You would have known that, if you'd given us the courtesy of at least a letter."

The Grey Warden flinched under the keeper's gaze. " _Ir-ir abelas_ , Keeper, I've meant to write, it's just… well, after Virdin and Hylea passed and-and I had my duties with the wardens and-"

"I know," Deshanna sighed. She put her hands on his shoulders. "You're here now, after all this time. I will enjoy this moment."

Bora smiled. " _Ma serannas,_ Deshanna."

"Why are you here, uncle?" asked Sinderon.

"Oh, yes, I did say that was confidential, didn't I? Well, I'll make an exception for family." Bora sighed. "I'm not sure how much you know about what's happened with the Grey Wardens, but the short of it is that we suffered heavy losses and corruption during the Corypheous crisis. We've thankfully been rid of what was meant to end us, and have started to rebuild; imagine my surprise when I found out my own niece was the cause of that," he chuckled. "But even after all this time, there is still trouble. Our leader, Clarel, is gone along with most of our senior officers, and trying to reorder the power struggle has been chaotic to put it lightly. So I've decided to track down the one person who might be able to help us."

"Who is that?" Deshanna asked.

"You probably know him as the Hero of Ferelden."

Solas remained silent until this point. "Last I heard, the Wardens had lost contact with the hero," he stated. He had heard of the civil war starting between the wardens after what had happened at Adamant Fortress. Solas seriously doubted this one warden would do much to help. Granted, he had only heard stories and knew very little of the man himself. It would take a lot to find him, this he did know. Even in the travels Solas had made for his year awake in this world he had only come across the smallest hints and traces within the Fade of where the Hero was traveling. Most pointed towards entrances into the Deep Roads.

"I know," Bora said. "Nobody knows where Commander Mahariel has gone, but he was Commander at Amaranthine and managed to raise up the Wardens there into something amazing. That along with his standing as a fucking _Hero_ , I feel like he might just be the kind of person we need back at Weishaupt to get the rabble in line."

"But how are you going to find him?" Deshanna asked. "You said yourself that nobody knows where he is."

"He was last seen in Antiva," Bora replied. "Sources say he was most likely tracking down one Zevran Arainai, one of the people who helped him during the Fifth Blight and with whom he had strong… relations," the warden coughed. "I felt like that was the place to start. I also felt like I would be a better person to try and get him to come back, one Dalish to another, you know? So I was heading there from the Anderfels, going through Nevarra instead of Tenvinter because, well, it's _Tevinter._ Got attacked by a bear, found my full grown nephew and apparently his almost brother-through-bounding, and here we are," Bora smiled.

"It would have been faster to hug the border of the Imperium instead of traveling down to the coast," Solas pointed out with one eyebrow raised. He turned to the keeper. "Apart from the warden, the coast showed no signs of people having walked it. We should be safe enough until we cross into Orlais. Val Chevin and Val Royeaux are both on the sea and we'll have to go around."

Bora blinked. "Yeah… maybe I didn't think through these directions," he chuckled. "But, hey, I found you guys, so maybe the Creators are looking out for me, huh?" Suddenly he grew serious. "But about what you told me, about Nimwen. I want to help. I know the Wardens are floundering, but my niece is in danger, and I'll be damned if I don't do something about it. And, who knows, having a warden might come in handy."

"Or place a larger target on us. Your organization isn't too popular at the moment," Solas stated. He then nodded to the keeper. "If there is nothing else, Keeper, I will leave you in peace."

"Very well," Deshanna said curtly.

"Listen here," Bora said, frowning. "I'm not coming here as a warden, I'm coming here as an uncle. I've never gotten to meet Nimwen in person, but she is still my niece and I'm going to help.

"Don't think I don't know the Wardens have fucked up royally, but we're all trying to rebuild, to redeem ourselves. I've done some things I'm not proud of, especially in regards to my clan," he said, glancing at Sinderon and Deshanna. "I hurt them all by running away to be a warden, but now's my chance to make up for that. Surely you believe in second chances?"

Solas looked at the younger elf. "I do," he stated. But this didn't change his view of the Wardens or the fact they were fools for drinking the taint. " _Dareth shiral_ , Keeper, Sinderon." Solas nodded to them before he turned and strode across the camp. He stopped, no more than a few long strides away from where he had been.

Lori was out in the rain with Dirthamen and Milliel. Solas felt his heart ache as he watched his daughter playing. Somehow Dirthamen was able to get Lori to be a happy, little girl again where Solas was only a reminder of all the pain this past month and her ordeal with the humans. It had been the real reason Solas had gone scouting. He had wanted to clear his head and some of the rage in him.

A small breath escaped Solas and he continued across the camp. "Having fun, _da'vhenan_?" Solas asked Lori. He didn't look at Dirthamen or greet him.

The toddler turned to him, smiling. "Daddy!" She ran through the puddles, sending up dirty water, as she tackled Solas's legs with a hug. "Rain!" she giggled. "It so fun, smell nice."

"That it does, _da'vhenan_."

"I make big splash," she said, doing little hops in the puddle. Her legs and the hem of her skirt were stained in mud, not that the toddler seemed to care. Her hair stuck to her face, making her look like a soaked sheepdog.

Solas smiled. He moved around the toddler to where Dirthamen stood. "How long has she been out here?" he asked.

"She won't fall ill." Dirthamen shifted a little. The cold didn't seem to be settling well with him. "I see you met Bora, he's quite interesting."

"He's a warden," Solas stated.

"Yes, and your view on all organizations remains just as negative as always."

Solas didn't reply.

"And you're not interested in hearing this." Dirthamen turned his gaze on Lori. "You want to know if I have seen anything on what's happening."

"Have you?" Solas asked, voice even.

"No, something is clouding my sight."

Solas felt himself scowl.

"Who Bora?" Lori asked. "He boring?"

Solas chuckled. "No, _da'vhenan_ , Bora is his name. It roughly translates to throw or project in this tongue." Solas frowned. It was a rather strange name to call a child. He looked at Dirthamen out of the corner of his eye.

"If I recall, he liked to joke," Dirthamen said.

"I like joke," Lori said.

"I never got to meet Bora," Milliel said. "He was gone before we came to the clan. Heard a lot about him, though. Apparently he was notorious for pranking."

"Hmm," - Solas bowed his head a little. Rain water dripped from his hood to the muddy ground - "hopefully such traits don't pass down."

"Or your next kid has no chance?" Dirthamen joked.

"Very funny." Solas looked at his son with a raised eyebrow.

"Lori hasn't met him yet, has she?" Milliel asked. "You might want to do that. After all, he is her great-uncle."

Solas closed his eyes then he nodded. "Very well." He knelt down. "Would you like to meet your great-uncle, _da'vhenan_?"

Lori cocked her head. "Uncle?" she asked. "Why he great?"

"Because he's the brother of your grandfather on your mother's side," Dirthamen explained. "'Great' is added to his family title to show he's your mother's uncle."

Lori nodded, though it was clear the toddler didn't understand a word of what her brother just said. "I see new uncle!" she declared. "He play in rain with us too. Right, daddy?"

"You will have to ask him that." Solas lifted Lori off the ground.

"I believe I will come with. I need a word with Deshanna as it is," Dirthamen stated as he limped beside Solas.

"I'll come too," Milliel said. "I'd like to meet him myself. The older hunters still tell stories about him, you know?"

"Yay, go daddy!" Lori commanded as if Solas were a steed.

"Go, is it?" Solas asked. "I can stop too," he teased the toddler as they crossed the camp.

The group made their way back towards Bora, who was still speaking with Sinderon and Deshanna.

"… and then I told the druffalo, _'No,_ you're _out of line!'_ " Bora laughed.

"Twenty-five years later, and you still haven't grown up," Deshanna said, shaking her head.

The warden beamed. "I might be fifty, but I can still have fun. Age won't hold me back."

Dirthamen chuckled beside Solas. "I would hope age doesn't define personality. The world would be such a dull place then."

"Right you are." Bora's eyes lit up when he spotted Lori. "Hey, now, who is this little one?"

"This is Lorien, Solas's and Nimwen's daughter," Dirthamen introduced the girl. "Princess, this is your Great-Uncle Bora."

"'Great-Uncle'?" Bora stood. "Well, I thought I was always a pretty good uncle, never thought I'd get upgraded to _great_." Bora smiled as he approached. "Hey there, sweetheart, aren't you something."

Lori pressed herself closer to Solas. "H-hi," she said shyly.

"Creators, she looks just like Hylea. Got my dad's eyes though, like mine, see?" Bora pointed to his own piercing blue eyes.

"I got eyes like _mamae_ ," Lori said.

"You do now? Well then, she has to be quite the beauty to have such a pretty little girl."

Lori giggled. " _Mamae_ super pretty."

A look passed over Bora's face. One of joy, but tinted with sadness, and even a bit of regret. "I'm glad to hear that, I can't wait to meet her." The warden glanced up at Solas. "You have a lovely daughter," he smiled.

"My thanks," Solas stated his voice now polite instead of cold. The talk on Nimwen hurt. His heart, his love, he hoped she was all right.

"She does look a lot like Hylea," Dirthamen agreed. "But she does have the blond hair from Solas's side of the family. It's just hard to see in this rain." Dirthamen turned his gaze on Bora. "It is good to see you again, little trouble maker."

"Toymaker?" Bora's eyes grew wide. "Creators, I never thought I'd see you again," the warden grinned. "Hope you're still not mad about that one time. You remember right?"

Dirthamen smiled. "Of course I remember, it took a year to recover toys for the clan." He chuckled. "No, I am not still angry over it."

Solas frowned. Dirthamen really had been visiting this clan for centuries it seemed. Yet, despite this, it was odd not one of the clan ever questioned why Dirthamen always looked to be in his twenties. It was also odd Nimwen hadn't recognized him, as far as Solas knew, from his time among the clan. Granted, Nimwen had told Solas she tended to spend most of her time alone even when among the clan. This meant she might not have ever joined the few other children for Dirthamen's stories.

"Good, can't have that spoiling this little reunion," said Bora. "So, what are you doing here? Bringing more toys for the kids?"

"Actually, I've joined the clan," Dirthamen confessed.

"He finally took my advice to stop traveling and settle down," Deshanna stated. Her arms folded across her chest.

"Really?" Bora raised a brow. "That's unexpected. Who's the lucky lady?"

"That would be me," Milliel spoke up. " _Aneth ara,_ I'm Milliel." The redhead stuck her hand out. "It's an honor to meet you. The other hunters tell all sorts of stories about you."

"They'd better, glad I left a good impression," Bora chuckled, shaking her hand. "My, aren't you pretty? Looks like the Toymaker sure did get a _doll_."

"Mythal's mercy," Deshanna groaned.

Solas turned his gaze to Lori. "Are you cold, _da'vhenan_? We can return to the _aravel_ and you can warm up."

Lori nuzzled closer to Solas. "No cold," she mumbled, though Solas could feel her start to tremble.

"Let's head inside," Solas spoke in gentle tones to his daughter. He turned, but paused. "Mahvir, after you speak with the keeper, I would like a word."

"Of course, Solas." Dirthamen bowed his head. His dark eyes moved to Solas's which told Solas Dirthamen knew Solas wished to speak on who had Nimwen while Lori took a nap.

"I guess we'll talk more later," Bora sighed. "It was nice meeting you, _da'len_ ," he said to Lori. "Sometime later you and I need to play, all right?"

Lori turned to Solas, as if unsure.

"It will be fine, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas assured Lori. "You'll have fun."

Lori turned back to her great-uncle. "Oki doki. Bye-bye, Uncle Bora."

The warden smiled. "Bye, Lorien."

When Solas returned to the _aravel_ , it didn't take him long to get Lori into dry clothes and settle her down for a nap. The playing and meeting Bora had exhausted her. "May your dreams be guarded, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas whispered. He moved some of her damp hair from her face before he pulled the blanket higher over his daughter to keep out of the chill.

Before too long, Dirthamen pulled himself into the _aravel_. " _You wanted to talk_?" he asked in elvish.

" _Yes_." Solas gestured for them to stay close to the door so as to not wake Lori or Nummy. The nug had settled itself beside Lori to sleep. " _Are you certain you can't see anything_?" Solas asked, voice low.

" _All I know is what I got from that underlying, Solas_." Dirthamen settled himself on the bed and stretched out his bad leg. " _My sight can't see through certain matters. Cuts like this are rare, but do happen when family is involved. Most of the time it is caused by my emotions getting in the way of seeing the future_."

" _So, stop them from doing so. Overcome the block_ ," Solas growled in a low tone.

" _If it was that simple, I would have overcome this block centuries ago. It's the reason I never saw Falon'Din trying to kill me or certain events which surrounded him_."

Solas frowned. His heart flickered with unease. " _Are there other times your vision cuts for this long_?"

For a moment Dirthamen frowned. Then his eyes widened. " _No_ ," the confession came out as a breath of shock.

Solas felt his blood go cold. There was no way Falon'Din could have escaped, was there?

" _It is possible,_ " Dirthamen started, " _he could have broken free during the Breach. He was at the edge of the prison from having been in combat with me at the time you created the Veil_."

" _No_ ," Solas whispered, voice hoarse. " _He can't have escaped_." The floor felt as if it would give away from under Solas. He settled himself down on the bed, numb with horror. If Falon'Din was behind this, then it was all Solas's fault. His past, his mistakes, his _family_ was what was placing Nimwen in danger then. It was his fault.

Solas buried his head in his hands.

*~ x ~*

Inan moved through the Fade. He moved across the realm to where little Lorien lay asleep in the depths of night where her clan was. Inan slipped into her dream. Light gathered around him as he walked. Within a heartbeat he was padding through the dream on all fours, his form now that of a massive wolf.

When he entered her dream it was like stepping into a winter forest. He heard the sound of a scream.

Lorien was running from three masked Harbingers. Terror and tears filled the toddler's eyes.

"Get back here!" Though Inan knew it was only men who chased her, Lori's imagination twisted her pursuers into horned monsters, with claws and needle-like teeth.

"No!" the girl yelled.

"Faster!" Their voices were warped, demon-like. One of them managed to grab hold of Lorien's arm. "Gotcha, little fox."

"Let go, let go!" Lorien screeched. She tugged and pulled at the harbinger's arm, but the toddler was too weak.

"You're not getting away," another of the masked men sneered. "We've got bigger plans for you."

"No, no, no!" Lorien bit down on the hand holding her.

"Fuck!" The harbinger released her and clutched his hand.

Lorien ran forward, and didn't see the root in the ground until she stumbled over it. Her little foot was sliced open, making her cry out in pain.

"You're gonna pay for that," the harbingers snarled.

"Go away!" Lorien sobbed. As the monstrous men loomed towards her, the toddler curled into a ball. "Go away!" She rocked back and forth, the snow around her growing red from her blood. " _M-mamae_ , daddy, brother," she whimpered like a mantra.

Inan padded forward. As he moved, the three humans vanished. He gave a soft whine and curled himself around the frightened girl. "It's all right, you're safe, little child."

Her head whipped up, eyes wide and glassy. "I-Inan?" Her lip quivered as she threw herself at him, bursting into more tears.

Inan leaned his head into her, giving a happy pant. "I'm here," he assured her.

"Scary men," Lorien whimpered. "Bad men, they-they no go away!"

"They're gone, little one." Inan nuzzled her. "Now, let's get you to a warmer place than this." He lifted his head, commanding her dream with slightest of gestures.

The snow melted away. The freezing breeze turned warm with the fresher scents of flowers and spring. Life grew before their eyes, springing from the branches and ground. Spring had come to Lorien's dream.

"There, that's much better, isn't it?" Inan lowered his head and rested his muzzle over Lorien's small shoulder in a continued embrace. "What would you like to play this time, little one? Where would you like to go?"

Lorien peeked out at her new green world with wonder. "W-we find bugs?" she sniffed.

"Then finding bugs, it is." Inan shifted a little. "Lead the way, little one."

A small smile appeared on her face. She stood up, foot no longer injured, and began guiding them, one hand clutched in Inan's fur. "I like caterpillars," she told him. "They make pretty butterflies, but I like when they wiggly too. We get them?"

"Ones like this?" Inan asked. He paused and lifted a paw. A fuzzy caterpillar slunk onto his paw. He moved his massive paw to show it to Lorien. "It's huge." He gave soft growling laughs. "And tickles."

Her eyes lit up. "Cute!" She cupped her hands and let the insect slink into her palms. "Fuzzy," she giggled.

Inan watched the girl, warmth in his heart. Her dream was now bright and happy no longer that of a nightmare. "I hear something this way." Inan stood and lifted a few branches of the bush for Lorien. "Come."

"What there?" she asked.

Inan could feel her unease, but she held onto his fur and held her caterpillar in the other. He lead her through the bush. As they came out the other side, a swarm of butterflies took to the air. Their blue wings flashing in the light of the spring sun. The butterflies wrapped around them. Their soft wings creating a small vortex with Lorien and Inan in the center.

"Wow!" Lorien gasped, face awestruck. "So many!" She ran ahead of Inan, dancing around the butterflies. "So pretty," she grinned.

Inan settled himself on the ground. He watched the butterflies flitting around the girl. Her smile was brighter than even the sun within this dream. He watched her, posture relaxed and heart fuzzy with warmth.

She was laughing, twirling in a made up dance. The caterpillar sat atop her head like a hat. "I dancin', Inan!" she called out. "Lookit!" She did a clumsy pirouette that caused her to stumble, but she was still smiling.

Inan leapt to his feet and raced around her in a odd sort of dance of a dog. He didn't bark but panted happily.

Lorien toddled after him, reaching out with grabby hands. "Imm get you!" she squealed.

Inan gave a fake yelp of shock and pranced around her. He let the toddler take hold of him and fell to the ground with an exaggerated grunt. "Mercy, Great One. Mercy," he pleaded.

"Never!" she pretend-growled. She flopped on top of him, giggling all the while. "You so fun," she said.

Inan gave a happy growl. "I'm funner with you, Little One." he nudged her with his muzzle.

A soft sound came to Inan. He perked his ears, eyes locking on the forest. He could feel the magic of another Dreamer slip into Lorien's dream. The next moment, Solas strode from the bushes and stopped. His hands behind his back; eyes locked on Inan and Lorien.

"Daddy!" Lorien turned towards her father. "You here too, lookit the butterflies, daddy."

"They're lovely, _da'vhenan_." Solas didn't look away from Inan. "Who is the wolf?" he asked, voice polite and calm, but Inan could hear the tension just held beneath the surface.

Inan stared at the man before him. It was the first time he had seen Solas this close since Solas had been a little boy. Pain crept into Inan's heart at the sight of the man before him. He looked so much like Nalas. His jaw, ears, nose, they were her's.

"This Inan," Lorien said, patting his side. "He nice and help me find bugs."

"Inan?" Solas's eyebrows rose at this. He kept his pale eyes locked on Inan.

Inan whined, unable to hold back the pained sound. His heart ripped with the pain. It bleed out through him until his ears twitched. He managed to keep his emotions from leaking into the girl's dream. Solas, he just looked so much like her.

Lorien turned to him. "What wrong, Inan?" she asked. "You sad?"

Inan let out a soft, playful growl. "No." He nudged Lorien to her feet and stood beside the girl. He managed to speak to Solas. "I'm only here to help ease her nightmares to dreams," he told the other elf. "I will never harm her."

Time slipped by in silence before Solas spoke, " _Da'vhenan_ , do you know what he is?"

Lorien turned to Inan, finger on her mouth. "Um… he a nice wolfie?"

" _Ir abelas, da'vhenan_ ," Solas whispered the apology as he strode over to Lorien. He knelt down by the girl. His position pushed Inan several paces from the girl. "He's a dreamer, like me. He can enter the dreams of others. He's dangerous."

Inan took a pace back, ears pinned to his head. "I'd never harm a child," he repeated.

Solas ignored him.

"But-but he nice," Lorien frowned. "H-he made the bad men go away, and he gave me caterpillar," she said, pointing to the bug still on her head.

Inan shifted a little. "Your dream will be light and less pained this night, Little One." Inan bowed his head. "Your father is here to protect you now." Inan turned away from Lorien and Solas. His paws heavy with the pain destroying his heart.

"Wait, no go," Lorien pleaded. "He play with us too, right, daddy?"

Inan paused and looked over his shoulder at the girl and Solas. His eyes locked onto Solas's. His pale gaze was determined, protective. The stare of a father who would do anything to protect his daughter. But, then Solas nodded to Inan.

"We will talk after she wakes," he stated to Inan.

Inan blinked and bowed his head. He settled himself on the ground once more.

"Yay!" Lorien clapped. "Okay, we play hide seek!"

"If that is what you wish, Little One." Inan stood.

Lori nodded. "'Kay. I count twenty, and you and daddy hide. Then I find you!"

Inan gave a soft growling laugh. "All right." He moved a little aways from Solas.

Solas stood and nodded to Lori. "Start counting, _da'vhenan_."

She grinned mischievously. "'Kay, daddy." She put her hands over her eyes and turned around. "One! Two! Three!" she counted loudly.

Inan turned and raced into the forest. He didn't go too far. He started to wiggle to get under a bush when he heard Solas following. "I don't think you get the game," Inan stated. "We're supposed to hide for her." He shook dirt from his fur and blinked at Solas.

Solas leaned against a tree. "Who are you really?"

"Inan. It's been my name for as long I can remember." Inan flicked his ears to get dirt from it. "She's going to start looking for us. She doesn't actually know how to count to twenty."

Solas didn't move.

"Um, I can leave now if you would rather. She can end up not finding me. Or we can step out of her dream and she can play with dream figments of us?" he suggested.

"You first," Solas stated with a slight bow.

Inan padded forward. The forest turned to the green tinged landscape of the Fade. He straightened, standing on two legs once more. Gold light wrapped around. It was how he appeared in the raw Fade. His form made from light.

The feeling of Lorien's dream still clung to his mind as he kept a soft link to it so the girl wouldn't slip back into nightmare. A dream figment of himself remained in her mind, playing with the little one.

Solas appeared moments later. He held to the same connection to Lorien's dream, Inan did. Solas turned to Inan and his seed-shaped eyes narrowed. "Enough tricks, show yourself."

"I can't change from this form," Inan stated. "Trust me, I've tried." Inan leaned against one of the nearby rocks reflected here from the mortal world. "I wasn't lying, Solas, I will never harm your child."

Solas's eyes flashed. "How do you know my name?"

"I used to visit your dreams when you were a child," Inan stated. "I learned your name then." It was easy to keep the pain from his voice despite the glare of mistrust Solas was giving him. "I was the golden wolf you played with in your dreams before you learned to wander the Fade."

"If what you say is true, how are you still alive? You're no spirit." Though, there was more question in Solas's voice than a statement when he said Inan wasn't a spirit.

"I am connected to the Fade and it to me, beyond this, I have no way to explain why I am still here." Inan smiled. "You look like your mother."

Solas paled at this before his eyes narrowed. "Who are you, really?" he asked voice low.

"Inan." Inan took a deep breath. "You don't have to like me, Solas, or trust me anymore. You once did and all I am asking is that you let me help your daughter while she sleeps as I once helped you."

"No."

Inan closed his eyes. The word struck him harder than a blade piercing his heart. The mistrust there was deep. "I would never harm her," Inan stated. His eyes burned but voice was calm. The tears didn't come. "I don't use my abilities in the ways you're thinking. Please, let me help."

"I can protect my daughter while she sleeps. You've done enough. Please, go." Solas turned.

Inan watched Solas, ears ringing. "Solas, I-"

Solas turned back to Inan, one eyebrow cocked in question.

Inan swallowed his words. He had no right to say it. "I will honor your wishes." The first time in nearly ninety centuries Inan spoke with Solas and this happened. He had known he had no place here, but had wanted to see Lorien. He had wanted to know her and ease the pain of her nightmares. " _Dareth shiral_ , Solas." Inan bowed his head. His throat started to close. These were the last words he would ever say to Solas, weren't they?

Solas gave him a curt nod. " _Ma serannas_." Solas turned and reentered Lorien's dream.

The Fade seemed to scream with the pain as it crashed down on Inan. Inan severed his connection to Lorien's dream and sank down to the familiar ground. He buried his head. If he had the right to tell Solas, perhaps- But, no, Inan had lost all rights to tell him long ago. It was his fault. The world Solas had grown up in. The disappearance of his mother. All the pain had been indirectly caused by him.

" _Ir abelas, da'len_ ," Inan choked out the soft apology.

* * *

 **Flame:** I am going to cry after rereading this chapter for the edit. Doesn't help I am listening to a sad song too…


	17. Chapter 17

Nimwen was tense. The creak of the door as it opened rang in her ears.

Two humans stood in the doorway. "We are to escort you to the Overseer's quarters," one, a woman, said.

Nimwen pulled herself from her chair. She looked to Inan. "Ready?"

Inan had been gathering a few of his medical herbs. He tucked them into a bag before moving over to the second a guard. "Ready," he said with a grin as he held out his hands to the guard.

The guard placed manacles on his wrists which looked like the ones Nimwen had. "Don't even think about trying anything," growled the guard, his eyes narrowed from under the mask he wore.

Inan just continued to smile like a fool at the human. "Who? Me? Why would I try something?"

The guard raised his hand and smacked Inan hard on the face. "Be silent," he hissed.

This wasn't the first time Nimwen had seen this guard. He had come in almost four weeks ago now to escort Inan to the Overseer's quarters. Inan had convinced them to let Nimwen come along this time, stating it would be good for her to stretch her legs a little. The last time the guard had been here, he had treated Inan just as poorly as Falon'Din did.

Inan blinked. He shot a smile at Nimwen before he followed the male guard from the room.

Nimwen followed behind, glaring daggers at the back of the guard's head. She hesitated stepping through the threshold. She wanted nothing more than to leave her cell, but after so long being confined to one room, she grew anxious at the unknown.

"Is something wrong, Herald?"

Nimwen jumped. "N-no, I'm fine," she shook her head.

The female guard nodded. "Very well, let us be off," she said almost chipperly.

Nimwen felt the urge to shudder as they walked down the hall. She hated the male guard for his harsh treatment of Inan, but it was his female counterpart who made Nimwen's skin crawl. She always smiled and to Nimwen she was eternally polite. _Too_ polite. Nimwen could feel that cursed grin on the back of her neck.

Whoever these people were who followed Elgar'nan and Falon'Din, they seemed to believe Nimwen was Andraste's Herald, the human woman's devotion proved this enough. Which made the situation all the more frightful. Nimwen had already experienced the madness of cults when she helped Cassandra track down the Seekers, and could only imagine what they had planned.

As they walked, Nimwen did her best to appear casual as she glanced at her surroundings. She searched for anything that could prelude an escape. An escape route, means of communication, a weapon she could swipe unnoticed. Even if she found any of those, the gamble of acting weighed heavy on her. Her hand went to her stomach. She had grown bigger as time went on. What was once a tiny bump easily hidden by clothing was now big enough to start hindering her movement. It was not by much, but when considering an escape from a fortress full of armed zealots, any handicap was serious. Unless it was a surefire way to break out, Nimwen wouldn't risk it. She couldn't afford to, and she hated being so defenseless.

Inan hummed under his breath as they walked through the halls. He kept several paces back from the male guard. The manacles around his wrists gave off a constant light as if he was using magic right then or trying to. The lightness of his hum was strained, almost pained, but still, there was happy note to it as well.

"I'm happy they said yes to getting out a bit," he hummed the words. "So good to stretch every month, right?" He grinned at Nimwen.

Nimwen forced a small smile on her face. "Indeed."

She was surrounded by madness. Inan hummed away like he wasn't imprisoned and abused, and smiley-guard went about chipper and pleasant as if she'd forgotten she was holding them against their will. Add to it pregnancy hormones, anxiety of walk out after over a month, and the overall levels of pissed-off this situation came with, and Nimwen was ready to start punching things. She tugged at her sleeve, kneading the fabric between her fingers as to keep them from doing something she'd regret.

The male guard shot a glare at Inan. "Stop that ridiculous humming," he growled.

A small smile spread across Inan's face, though it was a strained one. All signs of joy melted from Inan's features to be replaced by a dark, angered look. Then he hummed again and the look vanished, switching back to the one of cheer in a blink of an eye.

"I said 'silence,' filth!" spat the guard. He turned on Inan as the sound of his blade being drawn rang through the air.

Inan moved back. "Now, now, there's no need for that," Inan cheered. Inan just smiled even as the guard placed the tip of the blade so it rested against Inan's neck.

"Keep silent or lose your head, _elf_."

Inan blinked. "Isn't the Overseer an elf?" he asked, voice light and happy. He moved a little, leaning closer to the guard, and the sharp blade drew blood. "We wouldn't want him to get involved if you kill me. Right? Right!" He nodded. It looked as if he didn't care there was blood dripping down the blade now from his movement.

"Put your blade down _now_ ," Nimwen roared. She grabbed the guard's wrist with an iron grip, eyes venomous. "Lay a hand on him one more time, and I will shove this blade down your throat and pull it out your foot. Got it?!" Nimwen had snapped. She wanted to kill this man right now. She wanted to see him a bloody pulp on the floor. A small part of her watched herself snarl like a rabid animal with horror.

"Now, hold on, let's take this easy," the nervous voice of smiley-guard spoke up. "We must ensure that the Herald is safe and content. Do as she says."

A growl came from the second guard. He glared at Inan. "You're lucky the herald places so much on your pathetic life." He moved the sword, cleaned it, and replaced the blade in its sheath.

Inan blinked then frowned. He looked at Nimwen. There was no cheer in his face, his expression almost blank. He turned and followed the male guard once more. This time, he didn't hum.

Nimwen panted as she forced herself to calm down. Even after she followed Inan and the guard, there was still this ball of twisted nerves and anger within her. They were like weeds, and no matter how many she pulled there were still more coming. She wanted to scream, to claw the guards apart and tear the walls down. She bunched her sleeve in her fist; bit the inside of her cheek. What was this place doing to her?

It wasn't a long walk to the Overseer's quarters. When Nimwen entered it was to see a dark room. There wasn't much there considering who the Overseer was. Just a mirror placed to one side of a table and a high backed chair, currently turned away from the door.

"Leave us." Falon'Din seemed to appear from the shadows of the room. His golden-yellow eyes locked on the two guards and mask appearing almost to blend with the shadow.

"As you wish, Overseer." The male guard bowed.

Falon'Din narrowed his eyes as he looked from Inan to the guard. Falon'Din crossed the room in the blink of an eye. He ripped off the guard's mask before taking hold of his face. A small tendril of smoke started to rise from where the talons dug into the human's flesh. A scream pierced the air. Then Falon'Din released the man and fell to the ground, whimpering and clutching at his face.

"No one harms either of the prisoners," Falon'Din growled. He turned to the woman.

"She didn't harm us!" Inan moved between Falon'Din and the female guard. "She doesn't need to be harmed."

Falon'Din turned his gaze towards Inan. It was then Nimwen noticed the strands of golden-blond hair falling from under the hood Falon'Din wore. It wasn't Falon'Din at all, but Elgar'nan.

Nimwen turned to the guard.

The smile Nimwen found creepy was gone, replaced by fear. She stood frozen, back straight, but it was clear she was trying not to cower behind Inan.

"Let her go," Nimwen said. "She did nothing wrong, and ordered the other to stand down when I said to."

"Take him and go," Elgar'nan stated, voice cold with a hint a rage. He turned to Inan. "You and the Herald are to stay."

Inan bowed his head. "Of course, Overseer," he whispered.

"Yes, Lord Overseer, your mercy knows no bounds," the guard said, giving a deep bow that even Nimwen found impressive. She pulled her colleague to his feet and slung his arm over her shoulders. As she dragged him to the door, she looked at Nimwen. Her eyes shone with such gratitude that Nimwen felt a twinge of regret for finding her disturbing. Her choice of employer aside, the girl was devoted. The two guards left the room, the door shutting behind them with a dull thud.

Elgar'nan had watched them go before he turned to them. He removed the mask he had been wearing. With the mask gone his eyes looked like embers glowing in the darkness of the room. His face was fuller than the last time Nimwen had seen him. There was no cane in his hand this time and his son's robes looked only a little loose on him. The robes didn't show any muscle, however, pointing to the fact Elgar'nan was still recovering.

"M'lord." Inan bowed low. "You summoned me." There was no hint of fear in Inan's voice over what they had just witnessed or shock at how much Elgar'nan had changed in the past three weeks.

"Yes." Elgar'nan strode over to the chair and settled himself in it as if it were a throne. Despite his appearance there was an air of power which radiated from him. The room seemed to pulse with the heat of his magic.

Inan scrambled forward. At some point, on their way here, he had pulled up his hood. It was impossible to see Inan's golden-blond hair in the darkness. He stopped beside Elgar'nan and started to pull out his supplies.

"Are you in any pain, m'lord?" Inan asked.

Amber eyes flashed in the shadows as Elgar'nan's gaze flickered towards Inan. A spark burst into life without even the slightest of gestures. Fire flickered on Inan's clothes.

A shocked shout fled from Inan. He pranced up and stomped out the fire with hand. "My deepest apologies, m'lord," Inan scrambled back. He bowed low before he started to mix the herbs in a bowl, head bowed and body slumped so Elgar'nan couldn't make out his features.

Elgar'nan turned his gaze back on Nimwen. "Tell me about you," he stated in cold tones.

Nimwen's eyes narrowed to slits. "What about me?" she growled.

A scowl appeared on his features, eyes flashing with rage. " _All_ about you," he snarled. "What does Fen'Harel see in you? I want to know all of it!"

"How would I know? Perhaps you should ask him yourself." _'What are you doing? Shut up!'_ Mouthing off to Elgar'nan was not the smartest thing to do, but his little fire trick made Nimwen want to get back by any means.

Elgar'nan's eyes narrowed. "My, what a tongue on you. I see why he would be taken with you." Even in the darkness she could see the tightening of his jaw. "Now, tell me about yourself. All of it."

Inan finished grinding a poultice and moved towards Elgar'nan. "M'lord, it's ready."

"Silence!" Elgar'nan's gaze flashed towards Inan.

Inan cowered back into the shadows.

"What can I say?" Nimwen asked. She blinked.

What _could_ she say? Solas loved her, of that there was no doubt, but what drew him to her. _'Geeze, this feels like something I should know,'_ Nimwen grimaced. She knew what she loved about him, but this was another story.

"W-well, I suppose it started when we would have our discussions," Nimwen stuttered. "He knew so much and spoke of such fascinating concepts, I was eager to hear all of it. He seemed so surprised I took interest, which surprised _me_ because who wouldn't find it amazing? At Skyhold we got to know each other more and things… developed from there." Nimwen felt awkward trying to put this into words, especially for _Elgar'nan_ of all people. How could she put it into words? She and Solas, they were indescribable, at least to her. After all they'd been through, what they were to each other, Nimwen felt like putting it into words would make it seem like, less than what it was.

Inan shifted in the shadows.

For a moment Elgar'nan just looked at her, eyes narrowed. It was hard to tell if he was angered or thinking. "I don't want to to hear how you ended up mated to him, I want to know about _you_ ," he snarled.

Nimwen huffed. "Fine, you want to know about me? I am Inquisitor Nimwen Rime-Bringer of clan Lavellan, former Lady of Skyhold, former keeper of the Frostback Mountains, the Demon's Bane, known as Gel Danseur by the Orlesian Court, First-Thaw to the Avaar, the Savior of Thedas, and called the Herald of Andraste. I am the daughter of Virdin and Hylea of clan Lavellan. I'm a Rift Mage with expertise in Fade anomalies, spirit healing, and freeze things when I'm angry. Solas and I share an appreciation of knowledge and each other's company which grew into a love, I have no doubt you will never begin to understand. I like treks through the mountains, mushrooms, my steak rare, my tea minty, and my favorite color is blue. Is that enough, or did you need more?"

All through her speech the air seemed to heat around her. Elgar'nan's grip tightened on his armrests. His eyes twitched with rage and lips curled back in a snarl. "You dare," he growled, voice low with rage.

Flames leapt through air.

"Nan!" Inan was before Nimwen in an instant. A bright glow emanated from the manacles around his wrists. The light grew around his ankles as well, showing the fact the chains he wore also tried to dampen his magical ability.

No barrier came.

The flames engulfed Inan.

He collapsed to his knees. The flames ebbed away. Third degree burns marred his face and hands. His clothing smoldered and clung to flesh. His breathing ragged and one eye glued shut from the burnt flesh.

"Inan!" Nimwen fell to her knees before the man. She wanted to help but feared touching him would do more harm. Guilt stabbed her chest as tears swarmed her eyes. If she had just kept quiet, held her tongue. " _Ir abelas,_ " she cried.

The air felt off around them. Heat seemed to melt away as the Veil weakened. A crack split the air moments before the manacles around his wrists crumbled. The moment they hit the ground, it felt as if the Fade was leaking into their world. A soft, golden light emanated from Inan.

The burnt flesh seemed to mend before Nimwen's eyes. The process was slow as the magic seemed to work, mending the damage done to his body. When the light faded, Inan was kneeling before her, breathing hard. None of the injury remained. The only sign he had been burned was in his wrecked clothing.

Fresh blood gushed from the scar on his chest. It had been reopened and now poured blood as if it had just been made.

"Oh, Inan!" Immediately Nimwen ripped the sleeve off her dress. "Just hold on, I'll stop the bleeding."

Inan lifted his hand and took hold of her wrist. His grip was weak. Weaker than even Mahvir's. "It will stop on its own," he whispered.

The golden light weaved around the cloth in her hand. It formed a thin thread and stitched the piece of her dress back into place. The cloth mended, seamless. It was as if she had never torn the dress.

Nimwen stared at her sleeve. After all that, he cared about her ruined dress. She felt her lip began to quiver, and despite fighting, she broke into fresh tears. " _Ir abelas_." On instinct she reached out and hugged him, careful enough to mind his injury. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "This is my fault. I should have kept quiet and then you wouldn't have-you wouldn't have-" Her mind conjured the images of him being roasted alive before her eyes, and made her cry harder. No matter what she did, she couldn't prevent harm from befalling Inan. Inan, kind and hopeful, her only companion to stave off the dread and loneliness of this place, and now she had added to his suffering. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she chanted.

"You needn't apologize," Inan started. His left his hand to her shoulder.

Inan was torn from Nimwen's grasp. Her tears had muffled the sound of Elgar'nan moving over to them. Now, the man stood over Inan, holding the other elf by his golden hair. "Interesting," Elgar'nan stated. "You've been holding back on me, _healer_."

Elgar'nan lifted his hand, the talons of his gloved fingers placed into a single point. His hand lashed out, sinking into the soft flesh of Inan's throat. Blood sprayed across the room.

"Stop!" Nimwen yelled. "Please, let him go, I'm sorry. I'll do anything you want just leave him alone!" she begged. She watched the blood stream from him in horror.

The Veil weakened once more. The golden light returned as the mortal wound on Inan's neck sealed. His limp body twitched and he let out a ragged gasp for air. He blinked, shuddering.

Elgar'nan took a deep breath and seemed to almost bask in the light. "It's as if you pull back Elvhenan each time you die." He turned his gaze on Inan. "I do believe I learned how my son recovered so quickly."

Inan was limp in Elgar'nan's grip. Each breath harsh. He didn't speak. The golden light faded as the last of the wound sealed.

"Please." Sane Nimwen would have looked at her with disbelief at how pitiful she was. She sat on her knees, shaking with red, trauma-wide eyes and tear stained cheeks. "Please, let him go." Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

"Release him?" Elgar'nan turned his cool, amber gaze on her. "My, I would have to be insane to release such power from my grasp." He traced one bloody claw down Inan's face. Then his hand stopped.

Inan fell to the ground with a dull thud as Elgar'nan stepped back from him. The man's eyes were narrowed in rage. " _You_!" His gaze was locked on Inan.

Nimwen scrambled to the fallen elf. "Inan?" She looked him over for harm. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Ragged breaths came from Inan for a long moment before he moved. His breathing leveled and he managed to straighten. His pale eyes looked into Nimwen's before he turned his gaze on Elgar'nan.

"Nan," he stated, voice a little ragged.

A roar of rage came from Elgar'nan. "Shut up!"

A barrier of golden light erupted around them. Flames rushed out around the barrier. Heat leaked through the shield, intense as the light of the flames turned to blue.

"Shut up!" Elgar'nan shrieked the word over and over again.

Nimwen was terrified. The feeling of the heat rising had her cradling her stomach protectively. It was meaningless, there was no way she could combat the flames should they breach the shield. "I'm sorry," she whispered to her unborn children. _'I couldn't protect you.'_ Her eyes burned with the urge to shed tears.

Inan's free arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Hold on," his breath was warm on her ear.

She leaned closer to him, shutting her eyes and trying to pretend she was far away from here.

The Veil shattered around them. Heat vanished and the smooth stone was replaced the rough rock of the Fade.

Inan gasped. Golden light penetrated her eyes. "We need to move." The voice which spoke was familiar, but it wasn't Inan's.

Nimwen, too dazed to question this, numbly obeyed. She opened her eyes and turned to follow Inan. But it wasn't Inan who stood before her now. The man was made of golden light, long, beautiful robes donned a thin, familiar frame, simple but elegant. His long hair was pulled back from his face by a golden band. Pale, blue eyes looked at her, the whites of his eyes now a light gold color.

Nimwen took a step back. "W-what? What's going on? Where's Inan?"

"My apologies." The elf placed his hand on his chest and bowed to Nimwen. "I look different in the Fade than I do outside of it. I am Inan."

Nimwen relaxed some. "Sorry. Everything's just…" A mess. Just like she was. "We almost died." The thought made her stagger, want to throw up. "We were almost burned alive. My babies, Creators, my babies almost burned." She held her stomach, desperate for assurance that her children were safe. "My babies."

They didn't deserve it, any of it. They deserved to be born to a family with nobody out to kill them all. They deserved a mother who could protect them. Her breathing became quick and shallow. She could still feel the heat on her skin, see the flames strike the thin barrier. She should have never left the cell. There it was safe, secure. Her throat felt tight as her panic attack consumed her.

Warmth wrapped around her. Inan's arm draped over her shoulder and he held her in a weak embrace. "Calm down," his voice was soft and calm. "All three of you are safe. Nan can't reach you here."

"No, no, no." Nimwen shook her head. "They're not safe. Not with me. They're not safe, not even in here," she cried. "They should be safe. Not with me. I can't keep them safe, _I'm_ not safe!"

Inan eased her to the ground. He held her against him as if she were a child. His voice warm as he started to sing:

 _Elgara vallas, da'len  
_ _Melava somniar  
_ _Mala taren aravas  
_ _Ara ma'desen melar_

 _Iras ma ghilas, da'len  
_ _Ara ma'nedan ashir  
_ _Dirthara lothlenan'as  
_ _Bal emma mala dir_

 _Tel'enfenim, da'len  
_ _Irassal ma ghilas  
_ _Ma gras mir renan  
_ _Ara ma'athlan vhenas  
_ _Ara ma'athlan vhanas_

The lullaby came to a close.

It felt strange hearing the lullaby sung to her. The last one to do it was Sinderon, long ago. She sung it to Lori, and this proved why. She felt herself climbed down from the height of panic. Her breathing slowed to a normal pace along with her heartbeat.

"You are not a danger to your children." The words were soft and full of wisdom. Inan's hand was warm on her forehead.

She sniffed. "They haven't been born and I almost got them killed," Nimwen spoke quietly. "How can I keep them safe, Inan?"

"Look at where we are," Inan urged her. "Within the cell I couldn't do this, but outside of it," he trailed off. He took a deep breath. "I can help you back to your family, but afterwards I must return to stop Nan and help Falon."

"Why did he attack you?" Nimwen asked. "He looked at you and, then, all of a sudden went beserk."

Inan helped Nimwen to her feet. He took a deep breath and looked at his hand. "I suppose, given all that has happened, you need to know." He looked her in the eye. "Nan is my son and Falon, my grandson. Which makes," - he took another deep breath - "Solas my son as well."

Time froze. Nimwen slowly looked up at Inan, eyes like dinner plates. He looked like Solas. He was older than any elf alive or dead. He knew too much for mere coincidence. It all made sense; yet, didn't. "You're his father."

Inan turned away from Nimwen. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Nalas was the greatest love of my life." He bowed his head. "But, I never helped raise either of them. They were brought up in a world of darkness because I chose to try for peace instead of realizing the Forgotten Ones could never be trusted." Inan shook his head. "Right now, we should focus on getting you to a safe place to return to the mortal world." He turned. "Butter!"

A white figure appeared in the Fade. Under the white glow, Nimwen could see the cream colored pelt of Butter. "About time you decided to escape." Butter shook herself out.

"It was more of a necessity than deciding," Nimwen explained.

"Still, it wasn't a good place to be," Butter stated. She started off down the hall of the reflection of the keep. "Shall we?" she asked, tail held high.

Inan sighed. "You're not going to ever let me hear the end of it, are you?"

"Nope," Butter purred.

"Spare Lady Nimwen from your 'I told you so,' please, Butter."

"So, how do we get out of here?" Nimwen asked. "How did we even get _in_ here to begin with?"

"Inan," Butter stated.

"The cell blocked my ability to enter the Fade at will," Inan explained as he started off down the hall. "It should be simple enough to create a minor tear to leave the Fade when we're far enough from the keep."

"Okay, that seems doable." Nimwen said. "But, what about once we're out? We have no weapons, no equipment, I still have these on," - she lifted her still-manacle bound wrists - "and we have no idea where we are."

Inan stopped and turned. He moved back over to her and lifted his hand. The manacles shattered under his touch.

She stared at her bare wrists. Suddenly she felt an influx of mana she hadn't felt in ages. Wanting to test herself, she shot out a bolt of frost. "Wow, that felt good," she sighed.

"That fixes one problem," Inan stated. "As for food and supplies, I can gather enough food daily for you and your children." He smiled at her, eyes soft. "After all, it's only three-"

Butter hissed.

"Four," he corrected himself, "who need food."

"It's not just food," Nimwen sighed. "Babies need clothes, warm blankets, a place to sleep, and twins means _double_." Not to mention the idea of giving birth in the middle of nowhere _without_ Solas or any of her family made her want to tear her hair out.

Inan's warm smile faltered a little. "Trust me, my lady, we will get you back to your family in time. If we don't, I can find what they need in the towns we pass. Money won't be an issue."

Nimwen wanted to kick herself. Inan was trying to be helpful, and she had to go and stomp on it. _'This is real life though, I can't put his feelings above reality,'_ she told herself. " _Ma serannas_ ," she said to Inan. "Let's go then."

Inan sighed. "You don't believe me." He turned and started off once more. "But I am also not letting you go back to that cell."

Nimwen straightened her back. Earlier she'd told herself she would only attempt escape if she had a sure-fire plan. She could think of no better sure-fire method than this. "Fuck that cell, let's get home," she grinned.

Inan looked over his shoulder at her. His smile warm once more. There was none of the goof left. He moved off down the shattered, reflected hall. "There will be a cave system not too far from the keep. We can return to the mortal-" he paused. "My apologies, the physical world there."

"Lead the way."

The three of them traveled in silence through the hazy world of the Fade. Butter bounded ahead of them, weaving her way through the rocks and rubble. Inan stayed close to Nimwen, but he remained ahead of her in silence. He wasn't humming or making any sound. His back was straight and his stride even. The man she had come to know over the past month and a half seemed to have melted away.

She felt a sense of sadness over this. She had grown quite fond of the man during their imprisonment. He reminded her of the few vague memories she had of her own father. Nimwen hoped there was still that eccentric old man in him.

After a time, Butter fell back to walk beside Nimwen. "Don't worry," the spirit told her, "Inan is still Inan. He's just a little more serious than you knew him," she told Nimwen as if sensing Nimwen's thoughts. "Right now, he is just concerned that minor demons will draw near." Butter whiskers twitched in amusement. "You would think he would realize by now, no demon is fool enough to come near him while in the Fade." She purred.

"I would hope so," Nimwen replied. She remembered the Nightmare from the battle at Adamant Fortress. She shuddered, memories of the giant spider and smaller, but still quite large, spiders. If any of those stayed far from her, she would be a very happy elf.

Inan paused and turned down a path. "This way," he told her. "Watch your step, the ground slopes." The light trailed after him. It never seemed to leave his body here. The Fade was drawn towards him and power pulsed from him.

Nimwen followed it like a beacon. When the ground started to slope, Nimwen was careful to watch where she put her feet. Her growing belly made her less graceful, and she had less balance. "Not tripping, not tripping," she muttered to herself.

Inan moved down a large step then stopped. He held out his hand to her.

She took it. " _Ma serannas._ "

Inan helped her down the step and didn't release her hand this time. He stayed closed to her to help with her balance. "I should have just helped when I said the ground would steppen," he said with a small smile.

"Well, you're helping now." Nimwen smiled back. She blinked. "Oh my, I just realized something."

Inan cocked an eyebrow in question. The expression exactly like one Solas would have made. "What would that be?" he asked, voice light, but not cheery.

"If you're Solas's father, than that means you're my father-through-bonding. My father-through-bonding!" she chuckled. "Can you believe that?"

Inan laughed. "By modern terms, yes, that does mean I am your father-through-bonding." Inan looked away from her. The smile faded from his face.

"Well, I guess soon-to-be father-through-bonding would be a bit more accurate. We aren't bonded quite yet," Nimwen chuckled.

"You are by terms of Elvhenan and Elvhen'hamin," Inan stated.

Nimwen stopped. "Come again?"

Inan laughed. "My apologies, I assumed Solas had told you. Marriage and bonding wasn't around until humans introduced the concept to the People," he explained. "Before then a pair were considered mated when the woman became pregnant or if they were known to only seek the others company in the case of romance between same sex partners."

"Solas never told me that!" _'Ohoho, when I get home he is in so much trouble.'_ "So this whole time, Solas has felt like we were already bonded?" It hurt to think that this entire time she talked about being bonded, Solas already felt that way and had to wait for her. "Why wouldn't he say something?"

Inan shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Like I said, I had assumed you knew this already. You would know him better than I do, my lady."

"Well, Deshanna will be pleased to know that none of my children have been technically conceived out of bonding ties," Nimwen smirked.

"Hmm," - Inan tilted his head to one side - "I suppose that is one way to look at it, but your people also created the ceremony in the belief it was how your ancestors did it back in Elvhenan." He shrugged. "But, yes, technically the second you conceived a child, Solas would have considered you two a mated pair or bonded, in your terms." Inan then chuckled. "I can only picture what he has been doing to try and cover the fact he doesn't understand marriage. It took me a century to understand it."

"This explains a lot though." Nimwen smiled. The idea of Solas jumbling through the hectic process of marriage, a process he didn't understand, for her, reminded her why she loved him. "Well, come on, we'd better get moving. I'd like to get back so we _can_ have a wedding."

Inan helped her down the last several paces to even ground. "So, you can have a wedding," he corrected. "I'm not going to enter the clan with you, my lady." Inan moved forward a few paces. "This should be the cave." His finger tapped the air.

"What do you mean?" Nimwen demanded. "You have to come. You're family!"

Inan sighed. "You saw how happy Nan was at realizing I'm his blood," Inan stated. He looked at Nimwen, eyes sad. "I abandoned my mate while she was with child, Lady Nimwen. And thus abandoned my sons. I left them a cruel world instead of one of peace. I wasn't there. I am no more a father to Solas than Butter is."

"Leave me out of this, Inan." Butter leapt up onto a rock and licked her paw.

"Your relationship with Solas is damaged, yes," Nimwen agreed. "But so is his relationship with Mahvir. It seemed almost unfixable before, but they're slowly getting better. Yes, they still fight and they have much work to do, but they're trying. That's all they can do; that's all _you_ can do, try." She put her hand on his shoulder. "I know you care about Solas, and I think he would want to know you. He kept your crown, did you know that?"

"Nalas spoke with me before passing it to him," Inan stated. "I am also aware the crown has passed to Dirth." He took her hand.

Light wrapped around them. It was followed by the sound of dripping water. The next moment, they were standing in a cave back in the physical world.

"The place I am needed the most is with Falon," Inan continued. He now looked as he had before they had entered the Fade. His clothes tattered and burned. Chains clicked against the stone from the shackles he wore. "I knew in telling you, it would cause only pain, Lady Nimwen. My apologies." He bowed his head.

"Don't be," Nimwen sighed. "I can't stand the thought of you back there, but if you feel that's what you want to do, I certainly can't stop you. But let's not think of that right now. Let's focus on getting somewhere safe, all right?"

Inan nodded. "As you wish, my lady." He gave her a deep bow. He lifted his hand and light spread through the cave. "We should be able to follow the passage through towards a pass."

"Does your magic also say if this connects to the deep roads?" Butter asked.

"Err, well, I just know there is air coming from both directions. My magic is still limited, Butter." Inan rubbed the back of his head.

A soft sound came from the cave and nug moved out from behind a rock.

"Mercy!" Inan leapt into the air and behind a rock, hands over his head as he shook in fear.

"What's wrong?" Nimwen asked. "It's just a nug." Nimwen knelt down and stuck her hand out. "Hey there little guy." She gained the nug's attention. It sniffed her hand as if it were looking for food.

Butter edged towards it, her fur on end. "What's a nug?" the spirit sniffed the small creature. "Smells of earth and food." She licked her lips.

Inan peered over the rock then sank back behind. "Scare it, please, Butter," he begged.

Butter sniffed. "You're afraid of a rodent. Of all the things to be scared of, this is what you chose?"

"It's harmless," Nimwen assured him. "Lori even has one as a pet. Do you really think I'd let her have a dangerous pet?"

Inan made a small noise in his throat and ducked back behind the rock.

Butter purred in laughter. "Oh, no, watch out for the big, bad, evil nug." Her whiskers twitched with her purrs.

"Come here." Nimwen picked up the nug and cradled it in her arms like she had done numerous times with Nummy.

The creature let out a squeak, but, after realizing Nimwen meant it no harm, it settled into her arms with a snort.

"See, Inan? Harmless."

Inan squawked and stumbled away from Nimwen. A thud filled the cave as he tripped over the chains binding his feet. He landed hard on his face.

"I don't think he's listening," Butter stated. "Put the food down and let's ignore the fact Inan has an irrational fear of nugs." She purred again before she started to pad off through the cave.

Nimwen sighed. "All right." She put the nug down. "Run along now."

The nug looked back at her once before scurrying away.

Once the nug was gone, Inan peeked through his fingers. He let out a small breath and stood. "Now, it's gone, shall we?" he asked with a sheepish smile.

"Let's," Nimwen nodded.

* * *

 **Flame:** Since before the fifth blight it was rare for nugs to be seen above ground, Inan doesn't fully get them and thus is scared of them. Well, also they have a creepy feet. Lol, and I wanted the great and powerful Inan to have the funniest of deadly fears in the form of nugs.


	18. Chapter 18

**A special thanks to very one who has reviewed, followed, and favorited the story. It means a lot to us.**

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There was so much to get used to at the prospect of having a child. A lot of it came as a struggle to Milliel, but having Mahvir with her for the road took a lot of pressure off of her. He helped her in so many ways.

"Fuuuuuuck." Unfortunately, this was one part he could do nothing about.

Morning sickness was definitely the worst part of her pregnancy. After surely losing five pounds and a kidney in the bushes, she staggered back into her _aravel._ "Why is morning sickness a thing?" she groaned to her husband.

Mahvir looked up from the stitching the outer shell of another toy. The halla lay on the beside him, only half completed. He set to work on the other toy not too long ago. Its soft brown-green shell was oddly proportioned so far.

"Do you really want answer to that question, _ma sulahn'nehn_?" Mahvir asked, he hadn't paused in the sowing despite looking at her.

The redhead sighed as she sat on the bed. "No, but I have a feeling whatever it is won't help."

Mahvir gave her a soft smile. "It's a natural part of pregnancy, love. Though, knowing this doesn't help." He gave a soft chuckle and turned his gaze on the shell he was sewing. He turned it in his hand as a thoughtful frown replaced his smile.

"What's wrong?" asked Milliel.

"I'm not certain this is looking like a dragon," he stated. He moved the shell so it was right side out and look it over. Right then it was less than the torso of the beast with more holes around it then completed sections. "Not important right now." He chuckled and flipped the shell once more as he continued to work on it.

"I think it's so sweet you're doing this," Milliel smiled. "And more than one? Our kid's going to be spoiled."

Mahvir shifted a little and turned his gaze on the sewing of the toy. His expression now blank. Despite not having been with him long, it was clear he was keeping something from Milliel.

"Mahvir, what's going on?"

"Nothing," he stated. He moved the shell in a smooth, skillful motion. He picked up another piece of cloth and started to stitch it to the shell.

"Uh-huh," Milliel replied, unconvinced. Mahvir liked to keep things to himself, this she already knew. It was something she battled with. On one hand, she respected it was a part of who he was and understood some things were preferred to be kept private. On the other hand, she was now his wife, and if there was any problem, or potential problem, with her husband, she had to do something about it. "So, how did you decide what each one should be?" she asked. Hopefully keeping him talking would give her more opportunities to pry.

"The personality of the child in question," Mahvir stated.

He lowered the needle and toy to his lap before turning to his bag. He pulled out a small case and opened it. From the case he pulled out an odd pair of spectacles. They looked like any other pair she had seen before but had more lenses on them and little switches down before sides of the frames. Mahvir put them on and switched so that another lense was over the first, normal pair. He picked back up the toy.

"What are those?" Milliel asked. "Since when do you need glasses?"

A soft chuckle came from Mahvir. He looked over the rim of the glasses at her. "I have fine sight when it comes to distance but for details I need these to see what I am doing. The larger the magnification the more detailed the work." He looked back down at the toy and started a finer stitch on the leg he had been working on.

"They look nice on you," Milliel said. She only ever seen one or two people with glasses in her life. Normally she found them silly, but for some reason they looked quite fetching on Mahvir.

" _Ma serannas, ma sulahn'nehn_." Mahvir smiled. "To finish answering your original question: I see what the child will like in the future. Their favorite animal or just the way they act in general and create the toy around that."

"And our child will like halla _and_ dragons? Quite the combination."

Mahvir shifted. Though his expression remained even, the slightest shift showed he was uneasy about what she had said. "Yes, it is quite the contradiction," he chuckled.

"All right, seriously, what's wrong?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Don't tell me it's nothing, either."

Mahvir put down the toy. "Well," he took a deep breath. "There's no easy way to say this but multiples run in my family," he stated. "I'm a twin, Solas is a twin, and, from what I've been able to gather, my grandmother on Solas's side was a triplet." He rubbed his head.

Milliel raised a brow. "What does that have to do with-" Milliel paused. "Oh. _Ohhhhhh._ " Her eyes widened. "Are you- are you saying that…?"

"We're going to be parents three times over," Mahvir stated. He moved to her side and placed hand over hers.

" _Three?!_ " She thought he meant twins. Twins would have been a shock, an unexpected surprise. Three babies? "Creators, Mahvir, I knew you were good, but I didn't know _that_ good." She felt woozy. "Oh my, I-wow," she laughed nervously. "Three babies."

"Two identical," he stated. Then smiled. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her into an embrace. " _Ir abelas, emma lath_. I should have warned you before now."

"No, no, it's fine. It was going to be a shock no matter what time you told me." She chuckled. "Guess we're not wasting time building the family line, just getting them all at once. If you know how many then, do you know if they're boys or girls?"

"Do you really want all surprises spoiled?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Milliel snorted. "You just told me I have three tiny elves living in my stomach, that's already a big reveal."

"Fair enough." He took a deep breath. "Two girls and a boy."

Milliel's cheeks hurt with how much she was smiling. "Wow, two girls _and_ a boy? Can you imagine it? I can't believe it." She glanced down at her stomach. She could barely tell if there had been any growth yet. "There's three little babies in here." She took one of Mahvir's hands and pressed it to her belly. "Can you believe it?"

Mahvir smiled and kissed her cheek. "I can." His voice was soft in her ear.

The huntress smiled. "Guess that was sort of a silly question." She leaned into him, taking comfort in the presence of her mate. "Hoh boy, what have we gotten ourselves into?" she sighed. "Three kids? We must be mad."

A soft chuckle came from Mahvir. "We'll manage." He brush some of her hair from her face. His gloved fingers, gentle and loving as they swept over her forehead.

"You're right, how hard can it be?" she joked. "Though, if you don't mind, could we keep this between us, at least for now?"

"Of course, your mother would be wanting to help with all three names," he joked back. His smile fell. "And I don't even want to tell you Solas's opinion on the matter."

The sudden shift in mood did not sit well with the redhead. "Hey." Gently she cupped his face in her hands. "Everything is going to be all right, understand? We're going to get Nimwen back, you and Solas are going to get better, and we're all going to be together. That's what's going to happen; that's _my_ vision." She pressed her forehead to his. "So hang in there with me, okay?"

" _Ma serannas_." Mahvir placed his hands over hers and leaned into her touch. He jerked back from her, the motion sudden as the heat of his forehead left hers. His eyes now glazed, distant.

"Mahvir?" The warm moment shattered like glass, and now Milliel was on alert. " _Ma lath,_ what's wrong?"

"Nimwen," he stated. His hand covered his eyes, head bowed. "She's clearer, away from most of what was blocking my sight," he whispered.

"Do you know where she is?!"

"A cave, I believe. The details are blurred," his voice was distant, hand still over his eyes and a frown pulled at the corners of his lips. "There is too much of the magic of," he trailed off.

"'Of' what?" Milliel asked. Finding Nimwen was her main concern, but this piqued her interest as well.

"My sight cuts off when a certain person is around," Mahvir stated, but it was as if he wasn't meaning to explain this to her. Then he lowered his hand and looked at Milliel. "I believe only residual magic remains around Nimwen of this person. It's hampering my sight, but I know she's not with the cult now."

"Thank the Creators," Milliel sighed in relief. Knowing that her friend was at the very least out of the hands of insane cultists, lifted many worries from her shoulders. "So now what? Where do we go to get her?"

Mahvir frowned. He closed his eyes once more. "We continue on this path and, I believe, we will eventually cross paths with her." His eyes closed tighter. "It's hard to see," he confessed.

"It's all right, you've given us more than enough," Milliel assured him. "To know she's away from them is great. But… now she's out there, in Creator knows what sort of wilderness, _pregnant._ Oh, Mythal, please tell me you saw her with a weapon!" What little relief she felt shriveled, as the realization her friend was alone without her clan set in.

"I don't believe she could have escaped alone," Mahvir stated. "Not from," he trailed off. "I can't see much, _ir abelas_ , _ma sulahn'nehn_."

"It's fine, don't strain yourself." _'Okay, so she may not be alone. That's better… I hope.'_ Milliel groaned and rubbed her temple. "Oh, Nimwen, why does everything bad happen to her?"

Mahvir stood. He grabbed what he had been working on before returning to her side to continue sewing. "Not everything bad happens to her." He sighed. "Part of it has to do with what happened during the Breach, and the other has to do with Solas. I believe."

"I just can't believe all these things could happen to one person without a proper reason," Milliel sighed. "Makes me wonder, what would have happened if it wasn't Nimwen Deshanna sent to that temple. What if it was one of our hunters, Deshanna herself? What if _I'd_ went? What would the world be like, I wonder."

Mahvir looked up from the sewing, hands not missing a stitch in the work. "Do you honestly wish for answer to those questions?" he asked.

Milliel raised a brow. "Am I going to regret it?"

"Probably not, depending who it is chosen to have gone."

"Very well, tell me. What would have happened if it was me who went instead of Nimwen?"

"As a starter you and I wouldn't have met in the way we did," Mahvir started as he stopped sewing. "You would have become inquisitor instead of Nimwen, supported the mages; banned the Grey Wardens. You would have set it up so that the elves were in control of the Orlas through the shadows by turning Gaspard into a puppet on the throne. After two years you would have disbanded the Inquisition and ended up married to the former commander of the Inquisition: Cullen."

"I… wow." Her being the Inquisitor? _Her_? It sounded absolutely mad. Her leading an army across Thedas, making all those decisions and changing the course of history? The idea was unbelievable. The fact that, according to Mahvir, it almost happened, downright terrifying. What struck her also was what he said in the end. "I would have married someone else?" It felt wrong just saying that. In retrospect, they hadn't been together long, but Milliel already couldn't imagine her with anyone other than Mahvir. "To this… Cullen? Sounds like a _shem_ name."

"Well, yes, he is human," Mahvir stated. Mahvir looked at her, his gaze even and wise. "Milliel, in the timeline I speak of, there is a lot which would have changed for you and for your clan. We would have met around the same time Nimwen met me, under similar circumstances, but we would only be friends, if that at times. What is important, is this time and the future now before you, not what could have been."

There was a short pause.

"To answer the other possible futures: Deshanna would never go to the meeting herself. She wouldn't leave her clan. The only other one who would have been chosen was Alaula."

Mahvir's words rang in her head. They would have been only friends? If that? Did Mahvir mean to say in this alternate time they might not have gotten along? Milliel couldn't believe it. Even in another world, how could she find him and not be intrigued, not pursue? She started to regret asking. Despite knowing it was not to be, as history was already set, just the mere idea, the 'what if's' that bounced around her mind like devious wasps. The thoughts left a bad taste in her mouth.

She reached out and twined her fingers with Mahvir's, as if to reaffirm _this_ was the real world, _this_ was their life. "I'm glad it wasn't me," she whispered. "Is that bad though? To be glad it was Nimwen who had to endure all of that instead of me, to be thankful for it? She had to do so much, go though horrors, have the world force her to do things it had no right to ask of her, and I'm just happy I got to stay here." Milliel felt her eyes water. "Is that selfish of me? What kind of friend am I?"

The warmth of Mahvir's other hand over hers followed her questions. "It is a natural emotion. Feeling grateful for the life you have doesn't make you selfish or any less of a good friend. What matters is you still care for Nimwen and the fact you are still willing to help rescue her."

Milliel wiped her eyes before any tears could escape. "I-I know it's just… it's really scary. To think it could have been me, that I would have changed everything that's happened, probably ruined it. To-to think I would have never married you. That-that," - she hugged her stomach - "that my babies wouldn't be here. I- it's just really scary and I don't want to think about it but I can't!" Before she knew it she was blubbering against Mahvir's shoulder like a child. It didn't help that lately anything could set her off, and this was an emotional shiving to the kidney that she wanted out of her life.

Mahvir drew her closer to him. His embrace was warm, but weak. "It isn't the future we're living, _ma lath_ ," he whispered, voice soothing. "Our children will be born and all of us will be together."

Milliel clung to him like a rock in a stormy sea. He was right. She was there with him, and they had their future children to think about. How could she be worrying about nonsense when they had to prepare for three babies? " _Ir-ir abelas_ ," she hiccuped. "I'm b-being foolish."

"You're not foolish, love. Today has been a lot for you to take in." He brushed his thumb under her eye to dry her tears.

"Y-yeah." Milliel nodded. She shook her head. "Urgh, I need to stop overthinking things. Distraction, need distraction," she muttered to herself. "Ooh, I know!"

Mahvir chuckled. His shifted so his arm was wrapped around her shoulders once more and his other hand moved to her stomach.

Milliel grinned giddily. "You, _ma lath_." She poked his nose. "And I are going to think of names! For the babies, I mean, though you probably already knew that. But that's besides the point, we need names! We should start early, we have to pick three afterall."

Mahvir smiled at her. "Any ideas, _lath_?"

Milliel's smile fell. "Um…" Nothing. This was her idea, but she couldn't think of a single name. "Wow, you wouldn't think this would be so hard," she sighed. "Off to a good start, huh?" she chuckled sheepishly.

Mahvir ran his finger down her jaw. "Would it be all right if we named the boy after my last son?" he asked. "Valendrian?"

"Oh."

Sometimes Milliel forgot how much older Mahvir was. She knew he'd raised other children, but it was something she didn't always think about. It was hard enough worrying about being a new parent, especially when your husband had years of experience over you. She also didn't like to think about Mahvir's other children because, though she hated to admit it, she was a touch envious. Even just one child and one parent was a family, Milliel knew this all too well, and Mahvir had had many families before she came along. How could she compare to all of them?

' _Here you go being selfish again,'_ she chastised herself. Mahvir wouldn't love their children any less than his previous ones. And she knew how much he cared for his other children, especially Valendrian. After hearing what was spoken between him and Nimwen, Milliel knew he'd cared greatly for Valendrian and that his passing was still a grave wound on his heart.

"Valendrian," Milliel mused the name. She looked up at Mahvir. "It's a nice name." She smiled.

Mahvir's eyes softened as he gave her a gentle smile.

"One down," Milliel grinned. She patted her stomach. "You hear that, _da'len_? You're name's Valendrian." The more times she said it, the more it felt right. "What do you think?" She received no feedback, of course, but she liked to think that her son approved. If not, the teenage years were going to be exciting indeed. "Our son's name is Valendrian." She looked at Mahvir, eyes bright. "I thought before I understood we were having a baby- _babies_ ," she corrected herself, "but now that one has name, I can actually call him something aside from 'the baby,' it just makes it so much more real. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Mahvir agreed. "What about the first girl? What do you think she should be called?" he asked.

Milliel hummed, racking her brain for ideas. "Um, geeze, I don't know," she groaned. "Why can't I think of anything? Lya? No that's boring. Cayla? No, no, I knew a Cayla once, hated that bitch. Maybe we could name one after my mother? Wait, that might get complicated. Nimwen? Wait, same problem." She moaned in defeat and slumped against Mahvir. "How do people get named?"

A soft breath came from Mahvir. "There was once a little elvhen girl who searched the woods around the Dales for the perfect gift for her mother who was expecting a child," Mahvir started to tell a story. "She searched without any luck for months and her mother's time drew closer and closer.

"When she was about to give up all hope on finding a gift. The sun came out from behind the clouds and shone down a single bud. The flower bloomed before the girl's eyes. It turned from a small, fible bud to the most radiant of flowers. It had been as if Elgar'nan had willed the sun to break the clouds in that moment and Mythal for the flower to bloom. A divine flower was born into the world through the will of the creators.

"The girl showed the flower to her mother and the next day a baby girl was born into the family. The mother chose to name her daughter after the divine flower her oldest had found."

"That's so nice. What was the name?"

"Diantha."

"What a beautiful name." Milliel nodded. "Whichever daughter is born first, we'll name her Diantha."

Mahvir smiled and brushed finger over Milliel's cheek. "A lovely name."

Then, they were down to one. One more name, the name of their second-born daughter. "I actually have an idea," Milliel said to him. "I realize now why names are so hard. It's not just about picking ones that sound good. A name should be meaningful, represent something, whether an idea, or a person. And I think I know what name I want her to have, but only if you're okay with it, of course."

Mahvir chuckled. "You said yes to naming our son after my last son," he reminded her. "What is the name you have in mind?" His smile was almost knowing.

"Anira," said Milliel. "Anira was one of the servants at the manor my mother worked at before we came here. She was always so kind to mum and I. On the night we ran away, Anira convinced one of the nightguards to let us out. With all the talk of 'what could have happened' it made me realize, if she hadn't risked her neck to get us out, I would have never found the Dalish. I would never have become a Lavellan; a hunter. I wouldn't have met Keeper Deshanna, Nimwen, Sinderon; Faen. And I _definitely_ wouldn't have you and these children. I never realized how much mum and I owe Anira, and, I don't know, I feel like this could be my way of showing my gratitude for the life she helped me gain. I don't know, what do you think?"

"It is a lovely name and a beautiful sentiment," Mahvir agreed. "Valendrian, Diantha, and Anira." He gave Milliel a soft smile.

She smiled back. "Happy?"

"Or," he started, voice teasing, "the halla, the dragon, and the druffalo."

Milliel gasped, eyes wide. "So _that's_ why you made more than one toy!" She felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner. "How did I not realize? Creators, I'm slow."

Mahvir kissed her. "No, you're perfect. I just know too much ahead of time."

"And you're too sweet for your own good," Milliel smirked. "You're the one sweet thing I actually like."

"Well, me and three day old hearthcakes," he teased.

Milliel burst into laughter. "Yes, those too. You're my beloved onion-hearthcake."

Mahvir made a face as if he could taste such a combination of foods. "I wouldn't advise eating something like that, _lath_."

"Well given my current state, who knows? I might be waking you up in the middle of the night demanding you stuff onions into hearthcakes."

Mahvir burst out laughing. "I look forward to it." He gave her a deep, loving kiss on the lips.

The redhead returned the kiss, overwhelmed in her utter contentment. This was her life. Here, in this _aravel_ , with her husband and their children. Whether or not this was what fate intended, this was the world she lived, and she was completely fine with that. "I hope at least one of them has your hair," she murmured once they parted. "Red hair runs hard in my family, but I hope at least one of them has yours," she smiled.

"Do you want it spoiled on how our children look?" Mahvir asked with a heavy sigh. Then he smiled and brushed her hair back from her eyes once more. "I am fine with revealing up to hair and eye color and who will have your lovely curls. But only if you are."

"No, no, I want there to be some surprise," Milliel said. "Can't have you giving everything away-wait, you said some of them will have my hair? Oh, Creators, _ir abelas, da'lenen_ ," Milliel apologized. "Nobody should have to take up the burden of the Ginger Jungle."

Mahvir chuckled. "Your hair is lovely, _lath_."

"Have you seen it?" Milliel asked, shaking her mop of curls for good measure. "This doesn't just happen. I still have nightmares from getting things stuck in here and mum having to fight just to tame this beast. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

Mahvir brushed back her hair once more. His eyes soft and loving.

She smiled. "I love you."

"And I you." He kissed her.

* * *

 **Flame:** Grinning is good after the rollercoaster of emotion we just went on through the last few chapters, but grinning until it hurts, isn't advised. Still, a full chapter of Milly and Mahvy. Mahvir/ Dirthamen is way too much of a romantic at times.

Also, I am really sorry for the delay in updates. I have been very busy. So, a double update is coming your way!


	19. Chapter 19

**This is part of a double update. The first was chapter 18. So if you've not read it, you're missing out.**

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Nimwen took in her surroundings. The Frostbacks. It felt like an eternity since she saw them last. She was unsure of their exact location, but she recognized they were somewhere along the mountain chain. She wondered how far they were from Skyhold. Perhaps they could go there?

' _What would we even find there?'_ It would be empty, she knew it would. Skyhold was too remote, and too expensive to make maintaining it worth the Chantry's time, especially with no war to fight. No doubt all the work the Inquisition went through to build her anew was being stripped away by time and neglect. Skyhold, _her_ Skyhold, it was once brimming with footsteps, clanking armor, warm fires, and hundreds of conversations melding into one collective hum. Now it stood empty, silent, its fires snuffed out and its halls dusty. Nimwen couldn't bear to witness it.

"Where now?" she asked her companions.

Inan was standing on a boulder not too far from Nimwen. He was looking out over the the mountains, one hand on his chin. A small frown pulled at his lips. "We can head west," Inan stated. "Perhaps hit Skyhold to see if your people left any supplies behind we can salvage for the trip out of the mountains. Halamshiral will be the closest major city once we leave the mountains. Or we can head north through the mountains to Jader." Inan's frown deepened. "I would rather not charter a boat to cross the Waking Sea. We'd be too exposed on the sea and it would be harder to escape," he muttered this to himself.

"There is nothing in Skyhold." The words came out more bitter than she intended. She cleared her throat. "We should head for Halamshiral. There's plenty of ram and fennecs in this region, so food shouldn't be an issue. So long as the weather stays clear we shouldn't have too much trouble."

"Spring is approaching," Inan stated. "It will be here by the time we reach Orlais." He slid down the boulder to join Nimwen in the deep snow. "Our first priority is to find game and down it so you don't freeze." As he said this a light breeze picked up and pulled at the charred remains of his cloths. Inan didn't react to the cold.

"You don't have to worry about me," she assured him. "Cold has never been a problem for me." As the breeze brushed against her, she could feel tiny flakes of frost begin to collect on her skin. She had to consciously cancel this before a full ice armor formed. Having been locked away and unused for so long, her magic was sensitive to the faintest probing.

Inan gave her a soft smile. "None the less, your little ones need to be kept warm even if you don't and they need food." He looked at Butter. "Can you guard Lady Nimwen while I search for some food?" he asked the spirit.

"We can shelter in the cave," Butter meowed in reply. She leapt down into the snow. Her creamy plet vanished as the snow swallowed her. She let out a soft hiss and and appeared on top of the snow shaking herself. "Unpleasant stuff." She flicked her paw.

Nimwen chuckled. "Perhaps you'd appreciate it more when it's not so deep."

Butter purred. "Perhaps." She waded her way back to the cave and settled herself just inside. "Be quick, Inan. We don't have all the time in the world for you to hunt."

Inan huffed a little. "I'm not _that_ slow with age yet, Butter." He turned to Nimwen. "Shelter with Butter. I will know if someone comes near you through her." He bowed his head. Before Nimwen could reply, Inan was gone.

Nimwen retreated to the back of the cave. Even though cold never bothered her, she still appreciated the thin warmth the cave provided. As she sat down, her stomach let out a growl loud enough to echo. Nimwen winced at the twisted feeling in her gut. She couldn't believe how hungry she'd become without her realizing. No doubt the adrenaline rush of the escape coupled with her finally taking a break and sitting down added to the delayed reaction.

"Wonder how long he'll be," Nimwen pondered.

"Not long knowing Inan," Butter muttered.

A soft golden glow came from just outside the cave. Inan reappeared. He had caught a rull ram and already skinned it. "My apologies, I didn't want to to alert the cult to our location through an open fire so I had to bring it back here."

Butter snorted. "Really, you were gone less than ten minutes and already skinned it." The spirit stood and moved around. She rolled several rocks into place.

"I got some wood too." Inan grinned at the cat. He entered the cave and moved a little ways from Nimwen so the scent of raw meat couldn't reach her.

Butter moved the twigs into place and used magic to light the fire. Across from the cat, Inan was using the golden light to section the meat and strip the bones. The pelt lay beside him on the driest stone.

"We're going to have to use some of the hide as bag," he told Nimwen. "We'll smoke the meat and you can eat your fill, but the rest we're going to have to carry. What's left the hid, you can use to keep warm." He grinned. "Well, keep your little ones warm at the very least."

"How did you do this all that fast?" Nimwen asked in disbelief. "Is it time magic?"

Inan blinked. "Well, umm, no, not really. Only Dirth has strong time magic. I have slight ability of time magic but not that strong. I have warp time a little but only around myself."

"You say it as if it's nothing. What I wouldn't give to have Dorian here when you and Mahvir speak of warping time ' _just a little_.'" she smirked.

Inan blinked. "My apologies. It is strange to have my abilities taken as something so great again. Not many have seen them as great since, well since I tried to comfort a young woman one thousand years ago." Inan turned his attention back to the meat. He placed it over the fire to cook. He moved over to the hide and frowned was he started to section it with magic as well.

Nimwen was about to speak when the scent of meat hit her. Her mouth began to water and her stomach proclaimed once more its desire for food, much to her embarrassment.

A soft chuckle came from Inan. "You needn't be embarrassed, Lady Nimwen." He hadn't turned from his work on a pack or the the blanket for her. He was weaving them with thin strands of the hide. There was only just enough for a small blanket for Nimwen's shoulders and small bag. He wasn't using his hands to do any of this, rather using magic to move the thread and puncture holes in the hide.

"This almost feels like when I first joined the Inquisition," Nimwen said. "When we were still at Haven, it was a challenge to make enough food for everyone, and we were just a fraction of what the Inquisition turned into. We ate so much ram that my friend Sera joked we'd all sprout horns and become Qunari." Nimwen leaned against the cave with a sigh. "I've spent so long in estates and grand buildings that I almost forgot what it was like camping out for weeks on end. Even staying with the clan felt like luxury compared to waiting out the rain in a muddy cave.

"Word of advice, if you're ever waiting out a storm, never do it with Dorian or Varric. There is no greater complainer than a soaked Tevinter or dwarf." Nimwen snickered at the memory. It made her heart feel lighter, but there was also a sense of longing. She hadn't seen her friends in a long time. Varric was busy keeping Kirkwall from imploding, and Dorian's duties kept even him from contracting her in a while. She thought of her messenger crystal, probably still tucked in the drawer beside her bed in the _aravel_. Had Dorian called while she was imprisoned?

Inan set down the completed bag. The blanket floated over to her, held by a golden light. He knelt down by the fire. "Forgive the ignorance, but what is 'dwarf'? I know Tevinter is short for the human nation of Tevinter Imperium. But I've never heard of 'dwarf' before now." He checked the first stick with meat on it.

Nimwen blinked. "Wait, you don't know what a dwarf is?" That was almost more bizarre than everything that had happened to her lately. "W-well, let's see. A dwarf is, think of them as very short humans, though they'd likely punch you if you called them that. Don't call them that. But that's what they look elves call them _durgen'len._ They had a large kingdom beneath Thedas, though most of it is gone now. There's two major cities left, Orzammar and Kal-Sharok. There are dwarves who live above ground as well."

"If there are children of stone, then it explains why I don't know about them," Inan stated. He stood with one of the sticks and moved around the fire to her. "Here." He passed her the stick. "There were only the elvhen when I fell into sleep," he explained. "I learned of humans and later the qunari through their dreams and the spirits of the Fade."

" _Ma serannas_." Nimwen tore into the meat. She hardly tasted it as she wolfed down the food. It was finished too soon for her liking, and Nimwen was trying not to look desperate, but she could have eaten the whole ram wool and all.

Inan chuckled and picked up another stick. He passed it to her. "I did say for you to eat your fill." He picked up another with only a small amount of meat on it and laid it at Butter's paws.

The spirit sniffed the meat before she started to rip pieces off.

Nimwen was immediately on the second stick. She slowed down only when she realized how rabid she must have looked.

Inan had settled himself by the fire and stoked it. He muttered to himself, "She's about seventeen weeks now, it will take over a month to reach Halamshiral from where we are." His eyes narrowed as he looked at the fire. "The clan will be avoiding all populated sections of Orlais. We might meet them close to the edge of the Western Approach if we're lucky, but in a week's time we can't move as fast so perhaps in nineteen weeks they will be closer to Val Firmin."

"I wish there was some way to figure out where they are," Nimwen said. "If we could see their path, we'd know where to go. As it is right now, who knows when we'll find them?" She rubbed the swell of her stomach. "Can we hope to make it in time? How are we going to travel across Orlais to find a single clan, or a single clan find two elves and a cat?"

"Inan's a dreamer," Butter stated as she licked the straps from her whiskers.

"I've managed to speak with Deshanna briefly in her dreams," Inan sounded less like he was talking with Nimwen and more like he was still thinking to himself. "Her clan is hugging the coastline until they get too close to Val Chevin. Still we have between nineteen and twenty-one weeks to find them before you give birth. Twins are almost always early to life. By the end of the nineteenth week, at the pace I have in mind we will be halfway between Montsimmard and Val Firmin, still within the Dales. If we're lucky, we will meet the clan closer to the twenty-first week just past Val Firmin." Inan shook his head. "But I have a feeling those two will be eager to join the world and we have closer to nineteen weeks than to twenty-one."

"Well that's just great." Nimwen looked down at her stomach. "Could you two be a bit more patient? _Mamae_ wants to be home when you come so that you can be born in a cozy _aravel_ with your family instead of a cave without them." She glanced up at Inan. "Then again, at least you two will have your grandfather here." She gave a small, if unsure, smile. She was still in shock from learning that Inan was Solas's father. It felt unreal. Then again, she had experienced so many shocking family discoveries that she was almost numb to it at this point. The idea of her children having at least one grandparent though, especially one as compassionate and caring as Inan, was not a bad one in her opinion. However, she still had no idea how Inan felt on the topic.

Inan blinked and bowed his head to her. He stood and started to the gather some of the food. He left out two more sticks of long strips of meat while he packed the rest into a bag. "We had best get moving before dark. We'll need to make it to shelter before the sun sets and staying here isn't a wise choice."

Nimwen worried she'd said something wrong. Had she offended him in some way? Did he not want to be a grandparent? That last thought made a lump form in her throat. She took the remaining meat sticks and slowly ate, hoping to swallow her emotions along with her food.

A small breath escaped Inan. "Look, Lady Nimwen," he started, "I would love to be a grandparent, I would love to make up all that has happened within the family, but the last time I spoke with Solas it didn't go very well." He looked at her. "I assure you, I will do everything in power to get you back to your mate, daughter, uncle, and brother."

"Inan, you-" Nimwen blinked. "Wait, uncle? What uncle?"

"From what I heard from Deshanna, Senior Warden Bora returned to the clan to help search for you." Inan finished packing the last of the meat into the bag. He doused the fire and started to scatter the rocks.

"Uncle Bora?" Nimwen gasped. "But-but he disappeared _years_ ago, before I was even born! Nobody had heard from him since."

Inan shrugged. "I assume they ran into him on their way here and he heard what happened." He pulled on the pack. "Can you eat and walk?" he asked. "I will stay close and we will move slow, but I have a bad feeling about staying here longer." He moved over to her side and draped the blanket over her shoulders. He then tied the thin strips of hide at the neck so it wouldn't fall from her.

"Okay," Nimwen said quietly. The news still processing. Her uncle had returned, and was helping find her?

She'd never met Bora, and knew him only from the stories her parents and Keeper Deshanna told of him, when they did speak of him. She remembered at one point someone telling her their father was angry at his brother for many years. Sinderon explained that his anger came more from sadness, sadness that his brother left without a goodbye. Since he was little more than a character from a story to her, Nimwen never felt any strong feelings towards her uncle. But now, knowing he was trying to help a niece he didn't even know, Nimwen felt, for the first time, genuine emotion towards Bora. _'I hope we meet soon,'_ she thought.

She struggled to her feet, trying to find balance with her stomach in the way.

Inan took her free hand and helped her up. He moved with her out of the cave. Butter had leapt up his back and now rested at the top of Inan's pack.

"Butter, you know you're adding weight, right?" Inan asked.

"We're going to move slow," she mewed in response. "And I refuse to get my paws wet again."

"We're going to move even slower with you on my back."

"Deal with it, Inan." Her whiskers twitched a little. "Or you will be dealing with a Pride Demon instead of this cute Spirit of Faith."

"You've never turned in all the hundreds of thousands of years I've known you."

"So?" Butter asked.

"Just for the record, I'd much prefer you stay as far from being a Pride Demon as possible, Butter." Nimwen shuddered. "I had to deal with enough of those during the Breach to last a lifetime. Nasty things."

Butter purred and teased, "If Inan carries me I will stay as Faith."

Inan shook his head.

"Why did you choose to take the form of a cat anyways?" Nimwen asked. "Surely there were other things you could have been."

"It was Inan's idea," Butter purred.

"It was?" Inan looked over his shoulder at the cat, expression confused. "You were a cat when I first met you!"

"Whoever said that was our very first meeting?" Her whiskers twitched.

"I don't want to know," Inan stated and looked back at the path before them. He helped Nimwen up a few rocks towards another large ledge.

"What were you before that?" Nimwen asked.

Butter tilted her head to one side. "Just a normal looking spirit."

A loud crack made Inan hold out his hand to stop Nimwen. "I don't believe we're alone."

Ice formed in Nimwen's hands as her eyes scanned their surroundings. She knew not to go charging in, but she wasn't going to be defenseless.

Several cultists leapt down from the cliff and landed in the snow before them. "You've taken our Herald," snarled the closest masked figure.

"Be ready," Inan whispered to her. "It's too risky to fight."

Nimwen stood at the ready, eyes narrowed. She wasn't going back, that was for certain.

"We've orders to bring our Herald back alive," another cultist spoke. "But the Overseer left your fate to us. Surrender now and we shall not kill you."

"Kill me?" Inan chuckled. "My that would be an achievement." Golden light emanated from his body.

A cultist leapt towards Inan as the light grew in size, obscuring the elf's figure. The cultist shrieked in pain. Blood sprayed across the ground. He fell back, clutching his arm. Talon marks ran down from his shoulder to his hip.

 _Thud_. the ground shook. The light faded to reveal a magnificent, golden griffon where Inan had been moments before. The chains clicked on his hind paws. His body curled around Nimwen, pale eyes fierce with rage. Blood dripped from his front talons.

Nimwen stared, wide eyed and slack jawed. This was the first of her people. King of the elves, clad in the form of the great griffon. _'And your grandfather,'_ Nimwen thought to her children. Even if it was just an act of shapeshifting, Nimwen couldn't believe she was seeing a flesh and blood griffon in front of her. They were even more amazing than the stories proclaimed.

"Get on while they're stunned!" Butter called from Inan's shoulders.

Inan lashed his tail, letting out a hissing click at the closest cultists. The group had stumbled back in fear of the griffon before them. He ran his blood stained talons through the snow. The blood of the last cultist streaked the once pure color in a warning to the others.

Snapping from her stupor, Nimwen sprung into action. She grabbed onto Inan's feathered side and pulled her onto his back. The act was hard given her size, but her pounding heart and adrenaline fueled her and she managed to get on.

The moment she was secure Inan raced towards the ledge.

"Hold on!" Butter called over the howling wind. An invisible force moved around Nimwen.

Inan spread his large wings and knocked several cultists over the edge. His wings thrummed through the air, muscles moving under Nimwen. The cliff vanished under them. With several powerful down strokes, Inan rose through the air at a gentle pace.

Butter padded forward on Inan's back. "You won't fall," she meowed over the wind. "I have a barrier around you."

"Oo-okay," Nimwen stammered as she clung to Inan. Flight was something she never thought she'd experience, and now she deeply regretted it. The sight of the mountains growing smaller made her eyes squeeze shut. She tried to ignore the wind whipping her face or the feeling of emptiness where solid ground should be, but closed eyes made both feelings worsen.

"Keep your eyes open!" Butter called. "Focus on me or the feathers you're holding. It will help."

Nimwen cracked open her eyes. Through the veil of her lashes she made out the blurred forms of Butter and Inan's feathered back. "Th-this is insane!" she yelled over the wind.

Butter was seated on Inan's neck, her tail placed neatly over her paws. "Inan's favorite animal to shift to is a griffon," she called. "With those chains, we'll be lucky to make it to the foothills! They're pulling too much of his magic."

Nimwen took a deep breath and willed herself to open her eyes fully. The mountains were passing by quickly below them. From this height Nimwen could barely tell they were the same massive mountains she knew. "We're so fast!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it. It-it took us _hours_ to get over a single path, we just did it in minutes!"

A soft tilt happened as Inan angled his wings.

Butter didn't even react to the movement other than to lift a paw and lick it. "We'll be to the foothills by nightfall at least!"

"Fantastic!" Nimwen laughed. "No wonder the Grey Wardens used griffons, they're amazing."

"Inan could talk your ear off about them." Butter's whiskers twitched but, if she purred, the sound was lost in the howl of the wind. "He's rather upset they forced griffon's through the joining."

"They did what?!" Nimwen squawked.

Butter blinked. "My, those wardens do love their secrets. They killed off the race by forcing a creature which goes berserk with the tainted blood through the Joining. The madness spread to the rest of the race until only a sole clutch remained. I believe it was returned to the wardens in the past year."

"That's horrible," Nimwen gasped. It seemed that Adamant wasn't the first time the Wardens toyed with things best left alone. She wondered how long it would be before they caused another disaster.

Butter bowed her head. "Inan could tell you how the elves were the original riders of the griffons. He loved them almost as much as his own people. Sometimes more so."

"We were? I had no idea."

Butter flicked an ear. "Of course you were."

Inan's wing beats carried them easily over the mountains. The strokes strong and powerful. Their shadow danced over the white clouds and snow.

"It's so beautiful up here," Nimwen whispered. "What I would give for wings of my own."

Butter flicked her tail. "You have Inan at least."

The clouds were stained golden in the distance. Ahead, as far as the eye could see, were the clouds tinted with the beautiful golds and reds of a sunset.

Nimwen took in the sight with awe. She remembered the evenings staring at the sunset from her balcony. Those views were nothing compared to seeing it from the sky itself. "I wish Lori could see this," she said. "I've always wanted to give her the world, wouldn't this just be perfect?"

"Lean forward a little," Butter advised. "Inan needs to land."

"Oh, right." Nimwen leaned forward, holding onto Inan's feathers.

Inan slowed before his body moved so that he was almost back winging. They drifted through the clouds until Nimwen could see the darkening landscape of the Dales spread out before them. They still had at least a week or two of a trip through the foothills but even from here the vast plainlands could be seen.

A soft click came from the chains hitting the stone. Inan landed so softly Nimwen could only tell he had through the difference in the bunching of his muscles.

Butter stretched. "All right, it's safe to dismount." She hopped off of Inan and flicked her tail. The barrier protecting Nimwen vanished with the flick.

She turned and carefully slid from Inan's back. When her feet touched the ground she stumbled. "Oh my, that was a thrill," she laughed nervously. Her legs were trembling and she could still feel the wind knocking around her head. "I'm just going to sit down now," Nimwen added as she kneeled on the ground.

Inan's talons clicked as he turned towards her. Golden light gathered around him. The next moment the fierce, powerful griffon dissolved away into the gathering night. Inan was an elf once more. He knelt before her, his hand over her forehead and other on her stomach.

"That will have to be the last flight," he told her. "Anymore and we risk the little ones. Even that short one was risky, but fighting was riskier."

"Agreed," Nimwen nodded. "But, thank you, Inan. You saved us once again."

"What good is a grandfather if he can't leap off a cliff as a griffon to save the day," Inan joked. He grinned at Nimwen.

Nimwen blinked in surprise. The expression quickly turned to a smile. "Right," she beamed. "You hear that, _da'lenen_?" she asked, patting her stomach. "Your grandfather's going to keep us nice and safe."

Inan chuckled and removed the pack from his shoulders. He settled himself on the ground beside Nimwen as he pulled out some of the meat for that afternoon. "Here." He passed her several of the pieces before placing one down for Butter.

Butter purred and pounced on it.

"I might not be able to fly for a while but I can shift into a ground animal to help us on the journey until we reach a city," he told her. "At least, I think I can." He tapped the chains. Steam rose from where they touched the snow. There was still a soft light coming from them.

"We need to find a way to remove those," Nimwen said. She tore into a piece of meat. "What can cut them?" she asked between chews.

"Lava?" Inan asked with a shrug. "They were made by Nan and Falon combined. Nan even tested it with his second hottest flames to make certain I couldn't burn my way out of them." Inan then frown. After a moment he struck his hand into his palm. "I never tried supper freezing them. A cold which could make the metal crack under touch."

"Freezing?" Nimwen perked up. "That's my department. I could try, though I won't be as strong without a staff."

"Not tonight," Inan said as he turned to her. "Your priority is your health and your body has gone through enough of a shock for one day." He nodded to a sheltered area not too far from them. "You can sleep there and I can get a smokeless fire going for the night."

Nimwen nodded. As much as she wanted to help, the twins were her top priority. She pulled herself to her feet and waddled over to the sheltered area. "Not too shabby," she murmured to herself.

Inan vanished into the darkening landscape. He returned just as Nimwen was starting to drift off into sleep. "A fire might be a little risky," Inan muttered under his breath. "Butter, can you keep an eye out?"

The soft coat of the cat bounded up a rock. She stood on the tip as still as stone, ears perked.

A golden light filled the space. Warmth wrapped around Nimwen as a wing draped over her. The softness of fur and feathers pressed against her back. A soft glow came from chains now wrapped around the ankles of a beast.

Nimwen smiled. " _Ma serannas._ "

A soft click of a beak came in response.

"Guess you can't talk in that form, huh?"

Inan shifted his head so he was looking at her. He blinked. His pale, blue eyes glowed in the night.

Nimwen let out a yawn. Fatigue washed over her like a mist. "Goodnight, Inan, Butter," she mumbled.

A soft, small paw pressed against Nimwen's face. "Nimwen," a voice called to her. "Nimwen, the sun is rising."

Nimwen scrunched her nose as she let out a soft groan. She was still half asleep and barely conscious. " _Vhenan_?" she grumbled.

A purr came from the voice. A whisker tickled her cheek followed the rough feeling of a cat's tongue. "You're more tired than I thought if I am suddenly a bald, male elf."

That definitely woke her up. Nimwen blinked the rest of her sleep away, and was met with a furry face. "Butter?"

"Who else?" Butter purred and stepped back. She licked her chest fur.

The weight of the wing shift a little over Nimwen.

"Good morning," she said to her companions.

Inan kept his gaze locked on the rising sun. He was still in the form of a griffon and it didn't look as if he had moved the entire night.

"Inan's been on watch after I fell asleep," Butter informed Nimwen.

"Please tell me you got _some_ sleep," Nimwen said to Inan.

He bowed his head to her. He stood and padded out of their little alcove. The chain left a hot sear behind them. Golden light gathered around Inan. A moment later he was an elf.

"I can get a small fire going," he said as he stretched. "There should be enough meat leftover for today at the very least."

"I'll take the ram with a side of ram," Nimwen smirked.

Inan chuckled. "My apologies. I know it gets rather repetitive." He pulled out some of the ram and passed it to her. "When we reach Halamshiral we will get some vegetables and fruits as well as a wagon. Perhaps a pot to cook soup in."

"I don't mind, reminds me of the old days when all I had to worry about was a hole in the sky."

Inan gave her a soft smile. "Nonetheless, it will be for the best I find you something more than meat to eat while you're pregnant. Meat is good and all, but it can't make up for a healthy, balanced diet." He finished getting a small fire in place and stoked the flames into life.

"True, and I doubt we'll find anything else to eat out here aside from pinecones," Nimwen replied. "And, for the record, I have to be really desperate before you can catch me eating a pinecone."

"I'd say, those are more likely to cause dehydration than fill your stomach." Inan laughed. "I will make certain you are well feed on ram!" he declared.

"To ram!" Nimwen grinned, holding her stick aloft.

"To ram!" Butter purred before tearing into her piece.

Inan chuckled. He placed what looked to be a quickly crafted wooden bowl of snow by the fire.

"So how long do you suppose it'll take us to get to the city?" Nimwen asked.

"Even if I shift into a horse, the pace will be kept at a walk. A week or two depending on weather and pace," Inan replied. He poured some of the melted snow into another carved out wooden bowl. "Here, drink." He held out the bowl.

She took the bowl with thanks and gulped down the water. "A week." She shook her head. "I can't believe it. It's been so long since I've been on my own, aside from you two of course. To think I could be back with Solas and Lori and Mahvir and the others." A tired sigh escaped her. "Why didn't I just stay at camp?"

Inan frowned. "My apologies, but I don't know what you're asking there." Inan took more of the clean snow and packed it into a bowl.

"At least we're counted." Butter purred and padded over to the snow. She took a careful mouthful.

"I can melt you some, it will take your body more energy to heat that snow than it would if you just waited, Butter."

Butter blinked. "Ah, but eating snow is fun," she teased.

"Sorry, that was more of a rhetorical," Nimwen explained. "Really, I shouldn't dwell on what's already occurred. What's done is done. Now my goal needs to be getting us back to Solas and the clan by the time the twins come."

"That is a wise plan." Inan placed the bowl before Butter then passed Nimwen the other one.

She downed the second bowl just as quick. She'd been growing more ravenous over the recent weeks, and no doubt all this activity was making it worse. "I swear I was never this hungry with Lori," she said. "These two are going to be little pigs I bet."

"It's said boys take more energy than girls," Inan stated. He packed her bowl with snow again. "Have another piece of ram while this melts. I figured you would be thirsty when you woke. We didn't stop to drink yesterday." He placed the bowl by the fire to warm the water.

"Smart man," Nimwen nodded as she chewed on the ram. "Boys, huh?" she mused. She didn't know what she would prefer, honestly. When Lori came along, she'd just been grateful her baby was healthy. The same went for the twins. "I suppose having sons would be interesting," she said. "But we'll just have to wait and see. We don't even know if it's boys yet. It could be girls, or one of each."

Inan chuckled. "This is true."

Butter pushed the bowl towards Inan. "More, please?" Her eyes grew large and round as she pleaded with Inan.

"I would give you more. You don't need to beg." He packed snow into the bowl and placed it on the other side of the fire from Nimwen's. "When you two have had your fill of water and meat, we can head out. We're going to have to walk until we reach a place where the chains won't catch then I can shift to a horse."

"Very well," Nimwen agreed. After finishing her piece of meat, she drank another bowl of water and stood. "I'm ready to go, what about you two?"

Butter licked the water from her whiskers. "I'm ready."

Inan was finishing spreading around the camp so it appeared no one had stopped there at all. His bare feet dragged the ashes around until it looked as if a the wood had be from a small fire catching a bush. He then hoisted the pack.

"Ready." He nodded to Nimwen.

* * *

 **Flame:** I love Butter.


	20. Chapter 20

Falon'Din shifted in the dark room. He stood in the shadows behind his father's chair dressed in armor instead of his normal robes. Elgar'nan had taken on the role of leader since regaining his strength and now sat glaring at the woman before them. Falon'Din kept his eye on his father. It felt odd to not be the one in charge, yet all of this had been his father's plan from the beginning. Now, their revenge had been taken from them because of an oversight by his father.

Falon'Din ground his teeth and turned his attention back to the guard. Hot rage licked at his heart. It had to have been his father who ended up letting that man slip through their fingers with the wolf's mate.

Elgar'nan tapped the arm rest as he listened to the woman's report. The metal tip clicked against the hard stone of the chair.

"My lord, search groups have already begun to scour the mountains," said the woman. She wore full plate armor and a stern expression, one of the higher-ranking members of the Harbingers if Falon'Din could recall. She stood at attention, awaiting a response like a soldier listening to battle orders. That she managed to remain collected and not quivering at Elgar'nan's glowering was rather impressive. "Ravens have already been sent out to our agents in the field. They will have no place to hide."

Elgar'nan's finger stopped tapping. "Good," he stated, voice akin to flame. "See to it all our agents are aware of what must be done when she is spotted."

"Yes, no harm shall come to our Lady's Vessel," she said. Her voice was deep for a woman. "What of the mage accompanying her?"

"Kill him."

Falon'Din stiffened. Kill the old fool? The man was foolish, annoying at the best of times, but immortal in the truest sense. Then there was the fact Falon'Din still didn't understand what that old man had been planning, what he had been up to while locked up here. Why, long before they had known of Nimwen, he had let Falon'Din capture him.

"My lord," Falon'Din started as he stepped forward.

"Silence!" Elgar'nan growled. His gaze snapped to Falon'Din and the room heated as Elgar'nan's temper flare.

Falon'Din stepped back. It was better to not let the mortals know his father's power by angering him here and now. Besides they still needed the help of this cult. Falon'Din's jaw tightened and he glared back at his father.

"Very well, it shall be done," the woman responded, unfazed by her superior's outburst. Her armor clinked as she bowed. "I will take my leave, if there is nothing more you require."

"You're dismissed." Elgar'nan give a flick of his hand but kept his gaze locked on the woman.

She righted herself, face as stoic as it had been the whole time. She turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

"Father, the elf might be a fool, but surely he has more value to us alive than dead." Falon'Din moved forward the moment the woman was gone.

"The only value he has is my seeing his head separated from his body." Elgar'nan looked at Falon'Din from under Falon'Din's spare mask. "Has your resolve wavered in our revenge on Fen'Harel?"

"Never," Falon'Din hissed. "But he can't be killed even by one of us, how are mere mortals going to handle it?"

"Ripping heads off works wonders," Elgar'nan stated. "Now, leave me."

Falon'Din scowled and strode from the room. His armor clanked with each seething step. Couldn't his father understand there was more to that elf than met the eye? He wasn't just any ancient elf, Falon'Din had known it from the first time he had killed him by mistaken. The mere fact he was connected to the Fade in such away, then there was something else, something deeper than even this. It had felt as if he had seen more than even Elgar'nan and Mythal had. No elvhen was older than Falon'Din's parents. Yet, something nudged him into believing Inan was, if Inan was even his real name.

Falon'Din stopped at the eluvian. It had been a good thing a few in this cult had been agents among Fen'Harel's group or they would never had recovered the pass phrase to enter the Crossroads.

Falon'Din moved through the once familiar space. The ground shifted under foot, forming a path to the place he wished to go: _Vir Dirthara_. A shudder raced through him. This was the type of thing Dirthamen would have done, yet, without Inan here, there was no quick source of answers.

The lighting changed as he stepped into the library. It had changed like with the rest of the crossroads. There would be nothing quick about this place, not with how fragmented the history stored here had become. Yet, it was still the only place he knew of which might hold answers to his questions. Well, short of going to Dirthamen.

A _thump_ broke the silence.

Falon'Din whipped around as he pulled his scythe from his back. The movement made his armor clang. His movements were slower than normal because of the weight but this was nothing compared to the weight of Fen'Harel's trap.

"Name your business in following me, mortal!" His scythe clashed with a sword and the stalker was thrown back several paces by the sheer force of the impact.

Even in battle, the woman's face remained stony. She quickly recovered and lunged again.

Falon'Din laughed and batted her aside with shaft of his scythe. "You might be good by a mortal standing, child, but you have never faced me before." He twisted around her as he used the scythe to help fling her into a shelf. "Tell me, why did you follow me?" He placed the scythe so it was pointed at her neck. She wasn't pinned, and he wasn't really trying hard in the fight, not yet.

He watched her expression shift as her steel colored eyes narrowed. "I'm following orders."

Falon'Din felt himself mimic her her expression, though his was in suspicion. "What orders would this be?"

"To confront you in an isolated area and eliminate you."

For a moment Falon'Din just stared at her. Then the words sank in. " _Fenedhis!_ " he spat. "Who gave you this order?" he demanded. He couldn't believe his father would do this. Not after all he had done to drag him from that living nightmare Fen'Harel had trapped them in. Not after everything he had sacrificed for Elgar'nan.

"The Overseer." Just as she spoke she side-stepped his scythe and rammed him with her shoulder.

He skidded back a pace. His heart skipped a beat. His ears rang. His father had…

Rage shattered in that moment. "He wouldn't have," Falon'Din stated. "You lie!" He leapt forward and took hold of her neck. "He would never do so, not after all I've sacrificed to free him!" He pulled her towards him. "Tell the truth, mortal, or I swear it, I will make your worst fears come back to life!"

The woman coughed as she tried prying his hand from her neck. "Not… lying," she gasped. Her pale face was growing red the harder he squeezed. "I was following… his orders."

Falon'Din stared at her. He threw her back and turned from her. His father had ordered him killed. But, he had needed Falon'Din to carry him all these years in this strange world. Had needed him. Falon'Din screamed in rage. His father had tried to have him killed over the centuries then turned around and asked favor after favor. He removed the helmet and let it clatter to the ground.

"He would then, wouldn't he?" he whispered.

He felt his legs kicked out from under him. With surprising speed for one in full plates, the woman jumped in front of him. With two hands she swung her sword down.

A powerful barrier exploded into life before him without the slightest of gestures. He rolled back to his feet and looked at her with a dull eyes. "One of mine?" He gave a dull chuckle at the sight of _vallaslin_. Her helmet had been knocked off when she was thrown, exposing both taupe hair and iris colored _vallaslin_. "I don't much like this new world." He titled his head to one side.

He felt the armor vanish from as he let the power he had been holding back moments before course through him. His armor was replaced by dark"skirt" buckled with gold around his waist. Gold laced up his arms and cover the tips of each finger. His shoulder were covered in a heavy cape. A golden clasp placed around his neck. He felt the weight of his mask return to his marred face.

"Elgar'nan should know better, even with my guard down, I still guide all death," Falon'Din's voice was dull even to his own ears. "You, _da'len_ , have become another of his pawns like me. Used and thrown aside without a second thought. I will make your death painless, guide you to an eternal sleep, I can do this much for you."

"Y-you're." The woman's eyes widened, lips parted in shock. "N-no it's, it's impossible! None of you are real!"

Falon'Din twisted his scythe around him. He swung the blade towards her neck. But stopped short. If he killed her, it would be playing into whatever twisted plan his father had in mind. Perhaps Inan was right. Perhaps it was time he stopped dancing to Elgar'nan's tune and listened to what he wanted. But what did he want? He stared into the girl's face, her face marred by his mark. For the first time, he felt nothing at seeing the marks. No joy, no certainty it was his right. Nothing.

"Who-who are you?" The panic and distress in her eyes was nothing like the collected person she'd been earlier. "You can't be him, you _can't_ be. So who are you?!"

The question rang in his ears. For a moment, Falon'Din felt himself ready to answer as he always had "Falon'Din son of Elgar'nan and Mythal" but the words died on the tip of his tongue. His father had betrayed him once more, after Falon'Din had waded through corruption of the Black City to pull him out. His mother had died by his father's hand. By his own doing as well.

Falon'Din lowered the scythe.

And worse of all - Falon'Din stared at the girl's _vallaslin_. Worst of all, Falon'Din had painted those same markings on the one person he had once loved and cherished more than any other in world. Tried to _kill_ him, his own twin, on Elgar'nan's word. Falon'Din backed away from the girl.

The scythe clattered to the ground. "I don't know anymore," he whispered as he stared at his hands and the gold. Appearances, looks, it had mattered more to him than even his brother's weak body. He had ordered stairs when he had known Dirthamen struggled with them just to keep up appearances. "Forgive me, Dirthamen," he whispered. "He never cared for either of us." Falon'Din looked at the girl. She had been so sure of herself moments ago. "We can't die," he stated, voice weak. "Not in the sense you understand it, but if I could, if such a peace was a truth, then I would be begging for it right now."

Falon'Din looked away from her. For a moment he debated picking back up his scythe, killing her and just returning to his father for the truth. But, the truth was what she had given. There was no a way around this.

" _Da'len_ ," - Falon'Din looked back at the elvhen girl - "Elgar'nan doesn't seek what you think he does. He has no intentions of keeping the promise of bringing back this Andraste all of you are hoping for. He will kill the woman like he promised but there will be no coming back to life, there was never was. I was to use her body as a puppet afterwards in an attempt to gain revenge on Elgar'nan's brother for locking us in darkness all these centuries." Falon'Din took a deep breath. "You can choose to believe me or keep following him." He picked up his scythe and returned it to his back. "I won't act to stop you in whatever you chose do next. Just know, for what pain I brought you as a child and after, _ir abelas, da'len_. Perhaps this Maker is a far better god than we ever were." Falon'Din started forward.

"You really are him." Pain, and what looked to be remorse, clouded the elven woman's face. "I believed in you once, prayed to you. This," she pointed to her tattooed forehead almost with disgust. "I thought if I served you, fought in your name, I could protect my clan and keep them safe, but I was _wrong._ During the Blight, almost everyone was killed by Darkspawn." Tears were in her eyes as she looked up to Falon'Din. "And all my prayers got was _silence_ ," she spat. "I found the Maker, Andraste, and knew it had to be real. Andraste did rebel against the Imperium, Darkspawn did emerge. There was proof, what proof did we have of you?"

Falon'Din bowed his head. "There has been proof around you your entire life, on the ground you walk, the sky you see, the very world you live in was created by our wars," bitterness leaked into his voice. "The Veil itself was created to lock us away from the mortal world, trap us deep within darkness where once Arlathan stood. The city known by your faith as the Black City."

"I-I…" Her sword clattered to the ground as she gripped her head. Her dark hair was falling out of its bun, hanging in her face. "I just wanted to do the Maker's work. Bringing Andraste back. She would have saved us. The Herald, I didn't know how to feel about… b-but the Over- _Elgar'nan._ " Saying his name made the tears spill from her eyes. "He said it was meant to h-happen, he said- Maker, we were going to sacrifice the girl!" She fell to her knees. "Why, why do this?"

"Why did we do anything back then?" Falon'Din asked. "Both Elgar'nan and I," - he felt disgusted and in the same moment numb - "wanted revenge. Not on the Herald, but who she is mated to. His name is Solas, but we gave him another name: Fen'Harel." Falon'Din shook his head. He turned back to her and touched her arm. "Truth and proof are only as real as what you see and know in the now." He managed a small laugh. "And I think there I just sounded like my brother."

She stared at his hand as if it were a dragon. "Falon'Din," she whispered. "You're really Falon'Din."

Falon'Din nodded and removed his hand from her arm. He turned away from her. " _Ir abelas, da'len,_ for tearing down your beliefs once more." He paused. He couldn't return to the cult, not now he knew what Elgar'nan wanted. For once, he had no desire for revenge only regrets for all the times he had tried to get it. What was left for him now? Only judgement or exile.

"N-no." The girl shook her head. "I've done awful things because I thought I was helping. For so long, I've been following blindly." She wiped at her cheeks, eyes red. "It h-hurts, but the truth is never comfortable, is it? _Ma serannas._ " She blinked, then chuckled quietly. "It's been a while since I spoke my people's tongue."

Falon'Din felt a smile twitch at his lower lip. "Never be ashamed of where you came from, it makes us stronger. And, you are right, truth is never easy, a fact I seem to still be learning." He took a deep breath. "You have my thanks as well for reteaching me that lesson, _da'len_."

A small smile appeared on her face. "From would-be assassin to impromptu teacher, huh?"

"Perhaps if more elders listened to the young we wouldn't be so closed minded," he stated. He started forward towards the eluvian, but paused once more. "If you stay with the cult, tell Elgar'nan you killed me. He has never been forgiving of failure and what little ability I showed today pales in comparison to our true power."

"I can't go back," she responded. "I mean, I won't go back, not knowing what they plan on doing. Though," she picked up her sword, gripping it in her hands as uncertainty clouded her face. "I don't know what I should do now."

"Find a path of your own making rather than one laid out for you," Falon'Din responded, knowing it was what he was planning doing. In that moment he fully understood what Inan had meant and knew he had to do everything he could to right this wrong, all his wrongs even if it meant facing his uncle and begging forgiveness from him and from Dirthamen.

"And what about you, what will you do?"

"Go to clan Lavellan and right the wrong I have committed."

"Let me go with you," she asked. "Please, I could not protect my clan, but if I could help hers, I could start to atone for my mistakes. Let me come with you." Determination burned in her eyes.

Falon'Din regarded her. "It is your choice, but as a forewarning, you will be placing yourself into the crosshairs for two very power beings. Solas won't welcome me or any seen with me with open arms and if you follow Elgar'nan will want to see you suffer."

"I will take that risk," said the elf woman. "If you can put yourself out there for redemption, I can do no less." She bowed. "Even if I am unredeemable, I shall help you on your path."

"If you are irredeemable, than there is no hope for me." He looked at her. "I believe Elgar'nan had a group trailing Clan Lavellan, if you have a general location, we can get to them through the crossroads in less than a day."

"I believe I know the way," she said. "If we start right now, we may reach them in no time." She sheathed her sword and straightened her stance. Once again she appeared the stalwart warrior from before. "Are you ready, my lord?"

Falon'Din bowed his head. "Just call me Falon for the time being. Might I have your name?"

The woman blinked. "Mine?" She seemed almost surprised he asked.

Falon'Din looked at her. " _Da'len_ it is then," he managed to make his tone light and teasing, trying to remember who he had been before all the pain and the choosing between his father and the others in his family.

She huffed. "That is not necessary, I do have a name, my lord. I am Gr-" She paused. The warrior bowed her head. "I am Arla."

"A pleasure, Arla. And, please, drop the 'my lord' and just call me Falon."

"Very well, my-Falon," Arla corrected herself.

He chuckled. It sounded like she had just called him "my friend." "Shall we?" he bowed and gestured for her to take the lead.

"Yes, we should delay no longer," she agreed, taking the lead. She walked ahead of him, her armor clinking with her steps. "I will get us there in no time, I assure you."

As Falon'Din followed her, he paused only long enough to let his clothes change back to the armored set but without any of the armor on it this time. His scythe was still strapped to his back and the golden bone mask on his face to cover the damage.

* * *

 **Flame:** Falon's change of heart is quick, but he's been struggling with himself for a very long time.


	21. Chapter 21

"So how old are you again?"

"I am thirty-three."

"Thirty-three!"

Sinderon grunted at the hard slap to his back.

"Creators, how time flies," Bora laughed. "To think you used to sit on my shoulders. Say, Solas, can you believe this guy used to only reach me knee?"

Solas turned to Bora and cocked an eyebrow. He had been walking a part from them in complete silence. "Considering the size of most children, it isn't hard to believe."

"He was the cutest kid you'd ever seen."

"Uncle." Sinderon felt his cheeks warm up.

The older elf cackled and slapped his back again. "Come on, Sindy, remember when you used to help me make arrowheads and you called them _'awwow heaths'_? Or, no, no, the time one of the halla snorted at you and you thought it was going to eat you?"

Sinderon groaned. "Uncle Bora, please." By now he wanted to blend into the trees and disappear. He was startled when he was yanked down by an arm around his neck.

"Oh, I'm just playing with you. Can't a man have a laugh with his favorite nephew?" Bora grinned as he ruffled Sinderon's hair.

"I, suppose." The hunter's neck and back started to ache from bending down. "W-would you mind?"

"Freedom is yours."

Sinderon sighed in relief as he righted himself.

"Kids, am I right?" Bora chuckled at Solas.

Solas turned to them once more. He regarded Bora for a moment before turning his gaze back on the trees. "You act more the child than your nephew does," Solas stated.

"Age is but a number, _ma falon_." The Warden smirked. "Only way I've been able to keep up with the green Wardens is to not let them think it's my time for the pudding and the rocking chair. Not to mention, I could outshoot any of them!"

Sinderon looked at Bora. It was strange, after all this time his uncle was still the jubilant joker he'd been when Sinderon was a child. It was like time never moved at all, almost. Despite being quite hale, Sinderon could see time did not pass by his uncle entirely. There were some grey hairs he hadn't noticed before, faint wrinkles by his mouth and eyes. His uncle was older, yes, but it was nice to know that life hadn't changed the man inside.

"What is it like, your life with the Wardens?" Sinderon asked.

Bora looked up, stroking his chin in thought. "Well, in some ways it hasn't been exactly what I'd dreamed it to be, some ways it's better. Our cause is a good one, even if sometimes our boat veers east if you get my meaning."

"Whatever happened to that woman, that Warden who made you want to join? Did you find her?"

Bora chuckled. "Oh, yeah, I found her," he said. "She ended up recruiting me, though it took a week of following her and begging until she nearly killed me. Boy she was pretty when she was angry…"

Sinderon raised a brow. "You _did_ leave because you wanted to be a Warden, right, Uncle?"

"That was the main reason, yes," Bora nodded.

Sinderon had a feeling what reason number two was. "So, this woman. Did you two…?" He felt embarrassed for asking, but if his uncle was going to leave their clan for a woman, he'd like to know what happened.

Bora turned to him. "Wait, you mean? Ha! No, turns out she was married to my training officer."

"Oh."

"Yeah, she was pretty good looking too."

Solas stopped and raised his hand for them to be silent. The next moment the sound of metal striking metal echoed through the hillside to them. Solas looked at Sinderon and Bora and tilted his head towards the sound in a silent question to investigate.

"Well then, nephew, kinda-son-through-bonding." Bora pulled his bow off his back. "Let's have a family outing, shall we?"

"Uncle, aren't we technically already on a-"

"Sindy, don't ruin this for me."

Sinderon sighed and took out his own bow.

Solas looked at Bora with a scowl. He lead the way over the hill. When they made it to the top it was easy to see what was happening. A group of elvhen wearing a purple tinted version of Solas's armor had surrounded two other elves.

Arrows were sliced from the sky by a large scythe. The metal glittered in the cloudy light of the sun as the elf spun the weapon around with ease. A warrior stood at his side, sword drawn.

Beside Sinderon, Solas froze, body rigid as he stared down at the scene. His expression melted from shock to one of rage. His eyes started to give off a faint white-gray glow.

A blast raced across the ground from the masked elf. The eight elvhen attacking the two were thrown back. The air seemed to vibrate with an invisible force. The elf with the scythe held his hand out, eyes locked on one of the elves.

He spoke in elvish to the female he was looking at. His tone cool and commanding.

She spoke back.

Solas was gone from Sinderon's side. A stone fist slammed into the elvhen with the scythe. As he staggered, Solas leapt at him. The two of them fell to the ground.

"My lord!" the woman in heavy armor cried.

Solas straighten. His foot rested on the other elf's chest, staff pointed at his neck. "Falon'Din," Solas snarled.

A moment passed before the elf replied, " _Aneth ara_ to you as well, Uncle."

"Where is she?!" Solas's voice was an enraged growl.

Sinderon froze, eyes wide. Falon'Din? _Uncle?!_ What was going on?

"Sin, look out!"

Sinderon snapped out of it just in time to dodge the woman's strike. He jumped back and aimed his bow at her head. "One more step and you die," he growled.

The warrior snarled, sword raised. Her face bore _vallaslin,_ Falon'Din's judging by the pattern, but her armor looked like something a _shem_ templar would wear.

The air thickened and the next moment Solas flew passed them. He skidded as he dug his staff into the ground.

The eight had recovered and were moving in around the masked elf.

"I'm not here to fight you!" he threw down his scythe. "Even if it means Dirthamen's sentinels try to 'kill' me." He glared at the eight.

Solas straightened. His eyes still burning with the light.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bora spoke up, bow raised. "Let's all take it easy, all right?" He looked at the masked elf. "Now you, who are you? My hearing must be going because I thought I heard him call you Falon'Din."

Solas seemed to ignore Bora as he moved forward. Green light was wrapping around his fist.

"Uncle, do you really want the mortals to be caught in a full battle between us?" the masked elf asked. He too seemed to ignore Bora.

"Silence, you son of bitch," snarled one of the eight. She pulled back her bow, arrow pointed at the masked man's heart.

"You know, that also would be reflecting on your master, right?"

The woman growled.

"Tell me where Nimwen is!" Solas stopped before the masked man. "Where did you take her?!" He took hold of the masked man's collar.

Sinderon didn't understand what was going on. But the mention of Nimwen made him seethe. "You know where she is? Tell us where my sister is _now_!"

"What'd you do to my niece you Orlesian looking bastard?" Bora demanded.

The masked man didn't even glance towards Sinderon or Bora, he kept his gaze locked on Solas. "I will tell you everything, I just ask you hear me out, Uncle."

Solas glared into the man's eyes. "I'm your uncle again, am I?" Solas demanded. Then let out an angered breath. "Explain, _now_."

"One more condition," the man stated.

"No!"

"Let me speak with Dirthamen."

"Dirthamen?!" Bora squawked. "What in Elgar'nan's flaming balls is going on?"

"Solas." Sinderon turned to the older elf. "What is the meaning of this?"

Solas didn't respond. He then released the man's collar and picked up the masked man's scythe.

"You know killing me would be pointless," the masked man stated. "As would my killing you. Please, let me tell him what happened back then."

"Tell a man who sees everything what happened?" Solas asked, tone cool. "Trying to kill him was enough of a hint of your intentions."

"Then I should be taking it that your intentions were to kill us in turn?"

Solas scowled. "Where is Nimwen?"

"There is more going on than you know, Uncle. Only the three of us combined will stand a chance against the one really behind all of this."

For a moment Solas regarded the masked man. "You pulled him out," it was more a statement than a question.

"And now regret doing so after he decided to try and stripe me from my birth form."

"Enough!" Confusion and anger from being ignored muddled Sinderon's brain. He marched forward. "Solas, tell me what is going-"

"Halt!" The armored woman stepped forward with her sword pointed at him.

"Out of my way," Sinderon snapped.

"I will not let you pass!"

" _Da'len_ , I'd check yourself." Bora strode forward, bow still aimed at her. "Do you really think you have the advantage?"

The woman looked back and forth between the two men, and Sinderon could see her realize she was open to either of their arrows.

"Solas!" Sinderon yelled. "Answer me, dammit. Who is he?"

"Are you deaf?" the warrior spat. "That is Lord Falon'Din, you fool."

No, this couldn't be real. It couldn't be. Sinderon's heart slammed in his chest as his mind tried to process this. It couldn't be him. That wasn't Falon'Din. Falon'Din was locked away with the other Creators. He was the friend of the dead. He watched over the afterlife, not kidnap pregnant women. This couldn't be!

"B-but."

Sinderon looked over and saw Bora's perpetual smile had weakened.

The Warden let out a laugh that sounded forced to Sinderon's ears. "Wait a minute, why'd he call Solas 'Uncle'?"

The woman's eyes widened as if just realizing this. "My Lord," she turned to the masked man. "Does this mean that he is…?"

The two men seemed to not have heard them.

"Wow, you lot are extremely slow," stated one of the eight.

"Only as slow as you, Vir."

"Hey, I am not slow, Atisha!" he snapped back.

Atisha, the woman in the purple armor, glared at the man. She turned her attention back to Falon'Din and Solas, bow still pointed at Falon'Din.

Falon'Din had moved to his knees. "I beg your forgiveness, Uncle," his voice was choked and he seemed to be struggling with pride. "I was blind to what Elgar'nan really wanted, what he really cared for." Falon'Din pressed his forehead to the ground. "I know I have no right to ask your forgiveness, but I beg it."

"I am not the one you should be begging," Solas stated. "Try the People, your mother, and brother first. I won't forgive until you tell me where Nimwen is!"

Falon'Din flinched before he straightened. "I don't know. She managed to escape Elgar'nan through the means of another captive. And mother would be more likely than you to strip me of this form."

"I don't blame her."

"Wait stop, let's pause for a minute," Bora said. "You're not just going to move on like you didn't just say what you said. He's _actually_ Falon'Din?!"

Sinderon didn't want to admit it, but his uncle's words made everything suddenly real.

"And you're his _uncle_?" Bora asked Solas. "Okay, just how old are you and how the fuck did you get together with my niece?!"

"Really, _that's_ your concern?" Sinderon snapped.

"Listen, young man, let me have my breakdown at my own pace!" Bora barked back.

"Maker would you both shut up!" the woman yelled.

"Try me, bitch!"

The next moment, Mahvir stood between Bora and the warrior. He seemed to have materialized from thin air. His hand rested on Bora's shoulder. "Enough, the both of you," his voice was calm.

The Warden yelped. "When did you get here?"

"Who are you?" the warrior demanded.

"Mahvir," Mahvir stated. He turned and limped down the slope.

The eight sentinels straightened and placed their fists over their hearts. Each bowed their head to him as Mahvir continued towards Falon'Din and Solas.

"You should have stayed in camp," Solas stated to Mahvir.

"My sight cut off," Mahvir replied.

"So you came even knowing who it is." Solas cocked an eyebrow.

"I came because of who it is." Mahvir stopped before Falon'Din, hands resting on his cane.

"Mahvir? I-I don't understand." It was like Sinderon was a child again, running to the Toymaker after being taunted by the other children, unsure, hoping he would have all the answers.

Falon'Din's expression changed under his mask, visible by his eyes. Sorrow, regret, and pain appeared in his yellow gaze as he looked at Mahvir. If Mahvir had been able to stand straight he would have come to the same height as Falon'Din. As they looked at one another, it became clearer they looked almost exactly alike outside of how thin and frail Mahvir looked compared to the stronger frame of Falon'Din.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Falon'Din whispered.

"For you it has been heartbeats of torment, for me twenty centuries have passed," Mahvir stated. "Whether or not I forgive you, isn't what matters in the present. What matters is the real reason you've come, Falon'Din."

Pain appeared across Falon'Din's face. "Dirthamen, please," he whispered.

There it was. Something in Sinderon shattered, something he'd always had, unwavering. His faith. "No." Bow and arrow slipped from his hands. "N-no, this isn't right." What was real anymore? It was like he'd been caught in a never ending avalanche, everything around him crashing and tumbling. "Y-you're, and h-he's…" The Dalish stared back and forth between the two, eyes wide. "But-but you can't."

In the corner of his eye, Sinderon saw Bora fall to his knees.

"Holy shit." There was no humor in his uncle's voice, all hints of a smile gone. In his voice was utter disbelief.

"Why?" Sinderon willed his weakened voice to get louder. "Why did you do this?" He asked Falon'Din. "Why did you take my sister? Why did you attack my baby niece? What had they done to deserve that?!" He heard his voice choke and wanted to berate himself for sounding weak. But he was beyond caring about that now.

"Answer him," Mahvir stated, voice even, almost cool.

For the first time Falon'Din looked at them. "For revenge," he stated. "To get back at Fen-" he cut off, "at Solas." He looked at Dirthamen. "And you."

Solas snarled and took hold of Falon'Din's collar. "Did you harm her? Kill my child and heart?!" he demanded.

"No," Falon'Din stated. "Elgar'nan is using a mortal cult to his ends. Your mate and unborn children are unharmed and were well taken care of."

Solas's eyes widened. "Children?"

"If you didn't kill her what were you going to do with her?" Bora spoke up.

Solas closed his eyes. "If it was Elgar'nan's plan," he half asked.

"It is," Falon'Din stated in hushed tones.

"Then he was going to wait until he had Lorien, the twins were born, and for Solas to be there to kill them before him," Dirthamen said.

Falon'Din bowed his head. He looked almost broken.

Sinderon felt like he was going to throw up. The thought of his sister, Lorien, the baby-no babies-being...

"Creators." He staggered as dizziness washed over him.

"That's sick," Bora said in disgust.

"No one ever said he wasn't sick." Falon'Din looked towards Bora. "Something I should have seen when he ordered me to kill you," - his gaze moved to Dirthamen - " _ir abelas_."

"It wasn't clear the first hundred times?" Solas demanded. "Elgar'nan has always felt more anger than any other emotion. And you were trying to be just like him."

Falon'Din flinched. "I wanted his approval," Falon'Din managed to look at Solas. "I-You were right all along, Fen'Harel was right."

"Please, listen to him," the woman spoke up. "He is truly repentant. He realized his wrongdoing and sought to make up for what he's done. He spared me when I sought to do him harm and set me on the true path. It's true!"

Solas growled and tossed Falon'Din to ground. He turned his back on both Falon'Din and Mahvir.

"Solas, it will take all three of us to stop Elgar'nan. I feel Falon'Din's powers were drained slowly and I am too weak. You only once bested your brother in combat and that was only through centuries of careful planning on your part."

"What do you mean my powers been drained?!" Falon'Din leapt to his feet.

"Even after three years, you would have more power than what you do right now," Mahvir replied. "The way Solas has been tossing you about makes that much clear."

"You speak of battles as if you've forgotten what is most important!" Sinderon snapped. "We must find Nimwen! She and the children are what matter the most, or were you all so caught up in your petty squabbles that you forgot that?"

"He's right," Bora agreed. "Have your pissing contest later. Right now we need to find Nimwen before something even worse happens to her."

"Nimwen is on her way towards us with the aid of another elvhen," Mahvir informed them. "Elgar'nan will know her priority is to return to her clan and will come for us as well." Mahvir turned towards them. "If we continue on the path we're on we will meet her and her traveling partner in the middle of a battle for the lives of every elvhen in the clan. All that matters to Elgar'nan is his revenge."

Mahvir held up his hand as he continued, "Nimwen is extremely important but rushing into danger blind causes unnecessary death. We will get her and the twins back. However, we shouldn't forget protecting the clan in the process."

"So, that's it then?" Sinderon was fuming. "We just wait for her to stumble upon us, is that it?" Sinderon turned his gaze on Solas. "You, you're content with letting your pregnant betrothed wander the wilderness alone? Well?!"

"Sindy."

Sinderon felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy."

"I will not!" Sinderon shook Bora's hand from his shoulder and whipped around. "My sister has been through enough. All these years she's been through hell, and _him_ -" He pointed to Solas. "He's made her suffer more than the Breach ever did. I've spent night after night wondering how I'd kill you," he told Solas. "But I put that aside because Nimwen wanted us to get along, and now you abandon her again? She should have never met you. Her life wouldn't be in shambles if you hadn't laid your twisted eyes on her-"

" _Sinderon!_ "

The hunter's head snapped to the side. He held his cheek, still stinging, as he stared wide-eyed at his uncle.

Bora's face was stern, the hand he slapped him with still raised. "That's enough." This wasn't his jolly uncle. Standing before him was Captain Bora Lavellan, Senior Grey Warden.

Sinderon was silent.

"I know you want Nimwen back, I want her back too, but we can't go out there cannons blazing. Mahvir is right, the clan is going to be the main target and our priority is keeping them safe. Or did you forget that Lori is there with them?"

Sinderon felt his heart drop to his stomach. "I-I didn't-"

"No, you didn't," Bora interrupted. "You're a good fighter, I always knew you would be, but you're no strategist. Now, shut the fuck up and let us come up with a plan. Oh, and cut it with the guilt shit too. You really think he doesn't care what happens to Nimwen? Did you not see him almost kill Mask Mcgee earlier? The man loves her, so rein in the temper or go back to camp and let the adults handle this, got it?"

Stunned, all Sinderon could do was numbly nod.

"Come now, Dirth, did you have to restrain Uncle?" Falon'Din asked. "I was looking forward to seeing him maul that mortal for mouthing off."

It was then they noticed Mahvir stood with his cane blocking Solas's path. Solas's eyes were glowing as he glowered at Sinderon.

"Oh well." Falon'Din flicked his wrist. "Though, I do have a question. What the heck is a 'betrothed'? Is it just a new term for mate or something?"

Mahvir hit his head with his hand.

Solas blinked, eyes returning to normal as he cocked an eyebrow at Falon'Din. "That is something I am still trying to figure out myself."

"You two are hopeless," Mahvir muttered.

"How do you not know that?" the elven woman asked.

"It's a new term and isn't translating to anything in our tongue," Falon'Din explained. "Seriously, what is a betrothed?"

"It's the term used for couples who have pledged to be bonded," the warrior explained. "Seriously, how do you not know this?"

"By the way, who are you exactly?" Bora asked.

The woman huffed. "I am Arla, sworn blade of Lord Falon'Din-er, Falon."

Falon'Din frowned. "You lot just made mating a lot more complex. What was wrong with just sleeping with a woman and then that stating you were a mated pair?"

"That didn't work too well with you," Solas said with one eyebrow raised. "Though, I do agree."

"Low blow, Uncle."

"Maker, I have a headache," Arla groaned.

"You and me both," Sinderon grumbled.

Mahvir sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Honestly." He shook his head. Then looked at Sinderon. "Sinderon, the man Nimwen is traveling with will ensure no harm comes to her," he changed the subject.

"How do you know this?" Bora asked.

"Because he knows everything that is happening at any given moment to everyone everywhere," Falon'Din replied. "Honestly, why do you think he is called Dirthamen?"

"Oh, don't worry, it'll sink in eventually," Bora assured him. "And when it does I'll be in an _aravel_ drinking and questioning life until I black out."

Arla scowled. "What?"

"You deal with existential crisis your way, I'll deal with them my way."

"We're getting off topic," Sinderon cut in. "What is to be our next course of action?"

"We should speak with Deshanna," Mahvir said. "Inform her we captured a high ranked member of the cult who captured Nimwen."

"And lock me up?" Falon'Din asked.

"The moment you walk into the clan wearing that mask, someone will mark you as Falon'Din. While Bora and Sinderon seem to have taken this well, I would rather not have it revealed Dalish creators are walking or limping around," Mahvir replied.

"So I can go?"

"No," Solas growled.

"Figured as much, just trying to follow Dirthamen. Where the heck are you going with this?"

"Replace the mask."

"Wait a minute, you're letting him into the clan?" Sinderon asked. "Absolutely not, not after what he did to Lori."

"He's not going near Lori," Solas said. " _Ever_ ," he glared at Falon'Din. "Dirth, what is it you see?"

"You and I combined can't take Elgar'nan," Mahvir said.

"You honestly believe Falon'Din will side with us over his father in a battle?" Solas demanded.

"I am here," Falon'Din retorted. "I'm already as good as ash in Elgar'nan's eyes. Have been since I disagreed with him on Inan's fate."

"No! You can be in chains back in the Black City," Solas growled.

"And how do you propose we get to the Fade, Uncle? Tear that little Veil thing you made? Destroy this world while you try to lock me back up? Free all the others while we're at it? If Elgar'nan is this pissed at you, I can't wait to see what Andruil will do."

Solas scowled.

"No, no, no world destroying please," Bora cut in. "Why don't we all just go back to the clan and meet with Deshanna, and not kill each other along the way, hmm?"

"Better idea, we give Falon'Din to Mythal." Solas's eyes flashed. "Whatever Andruil would do me, Mythal has planned tenfold for you."

Falon'Din paled. "Can we leave me seeing mother out of this, please?"

"Besides do you want to waste time searching for her?" Mahvir asked. He started to limp forward at a slow pace, his was heading for the clan.

"None of you are going to harm Lor- Falon," Arla proclaimed. "Not while I'm here."

Mahvir paused and cocked an eyebrow at Arla. "I had no intentions of harming him, _da'len_." He started off once more.

Falon'Din raced after Mahvir. "Dirthamen," there was concern in his voice.

Mahvir stopped and hit Falon'Din in the chest with his cane. "Don't touch me."

Sinderon watched the two with curiosity. Just what had happened between them?

"Dirth," Falon'Din's voice was pained. "Let me help."

"I don't need help." Mahvir continued forward.

Falon'Din stood there, eyes wide. He looked utterly shattered as he stared after Mahvir.

Solas strode passed Falon'Din, still holding Falon'Din's scythe. "Stay away from my daughter or I swear to you I will track down Mythal after all this is over and present you to her on a silver platter." Solas shot a glare at Falon'Din.

"Sindy," Bora whispered.

"What?"

"Hand me your knife."

"Why?"

"Need something to cut all this tension."

"About time master told him off!" one of the sentinels, Vir, cheered.

"Shut up and scout around the clan." Atisha hit Vir with his bow before she strode off after Mahvir. "The rest of you with me."

Vir gasped. "That wasn't funny."

"Come on, Uncle," Sinderon said. "Let's follow the others."

"Haven't we been all our lives?" Despite the smirk, there was almost sadness in Bora's eyes.

Sinderon watched his uncle move ahead, his words stuck in his head. They had followed them, hadn't they? Sinderon clutched his forehead, feeling like he'd been rammed by a druffalo. He let out a choked noise, feeling his eyes grow watery. "Fuck," he whispered. He breathed in deeply, trying to stay calm and swallowing down his emotions. He'd been rather numb to all the startling revelations, and now it was like somebody had pulled the curtains back and the light of realization was burning his eyes.

" _Da'len_."

Sinderon quickly looked up.

Bora looked up at him, gaze tender. "It's going to be okay." He reached up and put his hands on the younger elf's shoulders. "You just need to stay strong. You have to fight through the bad days to earn the best days."

Sinderon's eyes widened. His father used to say that. It was like, like his father was here talking to him again. His lip started quivering and he could stop it, nor the sniffs that started.

"Hey, now." Bora pulled him down for a hug and Sinderon buried his face in his shoulder. "Easy there, big guy."

Sinderon tried to calm himself, but it was as if a dam had broken and he didn't know how to stop it.

Bora patted his back and Sinderon felt like a child all over again. "Listen, we better catch up to them." The Warden pulled away and looked up at him. "Look, if you need to talk later, or need to let it out, my ears and shoulder are yours to borrow. I also have three bottles of dwarven ale with our names on them too. All right?"

Sinderon wiped his eyes. "Okay," he muttered quietly.

Bora smiled and patted his shoulder. "Atta boy. Now come on, let's get a move on."

Sinderon nodded and followed his uncle after the others.

* * *

 **Flame:** Well that's one way to tell everyone


	22. Chapter 22

**Special update, because I realized this chapter and chapter 21 needed to be released together. Sorry about that.**

* * *

Falon'Din watched Dirthamen struggling forward. Each step Dirthamen placed all of his weight onto a cane, his breathing ragged and low. Pain twisted Falon'Din's heart. He had pictured seeing his brother again many times. In some dreams he had been trying to take revenge, but, if he was honest with himself, those dreams had hurt and changed to the others. His nightmare had been rejection from Dirth after seeing him again. Then, there had been the good dreams where they had been like they were before learning Solas was Dirthamen's father and Elgar'nan had ordered Falon'Din to kill him.

This had never been in any of his dreams. He had thought his brother had an easy life with the mortals. Scars marred Dirthamen's once beautiful neck, his clothes were ragged and didn't suit him one bit. His body frailer and hair messy. While Dirth had always been frail with weak lungs, this-this was painful to watch and just do _nothing_.

"Dirth." Falon'Din moved towards his brother.

In a blink of the eye Dirthamen was paces ahead of him, but he had stopped, breathing ragged and pained. His hand on his chest.

"Master." Atisha moved to his side.

"Dirth!" Falon'Din raced forward, fear flickered in heart.

"Get," Dirthamen gasped, "away." His eyes burned Falon'Din. Not with rage, but, no matter the emotion reflected in his dark gaze, it felt as if it were rage or worse.

Falon'Din staggered back as if the look had been a flames to flesh. The look hurt more than even flames, than even when Dirthamen had torn his face. "Dirth, please, let me help."

"Remove your mask." Dirthamen tossed another mask towards Falon'Din. It fell short, but Dirthamen didn't seem to care. Instead he started off once more. His sentinels surrounded him, blocking Falon'Din from Dirthamen.

Solas had stopped several feet ahead of even Dirthamen to watch this. His pale eyes sharp and filled with hate. Falon'Din couldn't stand seeing his Uncle's gaze or feeling the rejection of his brother. Yet, he knew he deserved it. He had tried to _kill_ Dirth. Falon'Din closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and reigned in what he was feeling.

He bent and picked up the plain, mask. It was just large enough it would cover his deformed features. The mask was ugly, a plain black. In the same moment, he felt it was the real reflection of him right then.

His hand closed over the cloth. And it had been given to him by his brother. He looked after Dirthamen. There was no telling how long it would be before Dirthamen could look at him like he used to. Perhaps, he would never see Falon'Din in the same light ever again.

Falon'Din removed his mask, head bowed to hid his features from Arla. He put on the cloth one. The material pulled against the raw flesh. He had truly lost his path in the need to please his father. When had he started carrying more about how he appeared to the People than their well being? He really wasn't the person he once had been. He wanted to find his way back to the him who had carried the deer to her final rest, eased her in the moments she had needed it the most.

Falon'Din kept his gaze locked on Dirthamen. Perhaps then his brother could forgive him. If he could just find his way back to who he really was, but that path was clouded. He couldn't remember himself so how could find himself?

Falon'Din started after Dirthamen once more at the glare from Solas.

He would find out how to make everything he had done up to the both of them. They were the last of his family. The last of his family which wouldn't kill him on sight and that was surprising in and of itself. It was Dirth he really wanted back.

Falon'Din kept his eyes locked on his brother's back. Each time Dirthamen placed his weight onto the cane sent a jolt of pain straight to Falon'Din's heart. Each pained breath was agony to watch. He wanted so desperately to run to Dirthamen's side. He could have carried his brother the rest of the way, saved him all of this pain like he had done when they were younger. Like with the first time he had been strong enough to lift and show his brother what it felt like to have wind run through his hair.

" _Ir abelas_ ," Falon'Din whispered.

"Excuse me, my l- Falon," Arla whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He didn't look at the girl and instead kept his gaze locked on Dirthamen's back.

Solas had dropped back and looked to be speaking with Dirth, with his son. Falon'Din's heart ached. He wanted to be there at their side. More than that, even the slightest posture of Solas's back showed he knew Dirth was his son and had accepted him. Falon'Din couldn't look away. Why couldn't Solas have had been both of their father?

"This will take time," said Arla. "But you'll get there, I know you will. And I'll be there until you do."

Falon'Din looked away from his brother and regarded the girl. "What happened to finding your own path? Following around someone you once thought to be a god doesn't seem like finding your own path."

Arla blinked. "I…" She looked away, fingers toying with a strand of dark hair loose from her bun. "It's just, I've always been serving someone else. I-I don't know what _not_ doing that's like. It's confusing. _Everything's_ confusing."

Falon'Din sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't know what it's like to not being ordered around by my father."

" _Ir abelas._ " Arla looked up. "I'll try not to be so… follower-y, but I still want to help you. You and I are kind of in the same boat, though at least you have actual people to seek forgiveness from. I want to help, if-if that's okay, my- Falon, sorry it's a habit," she quickly said.

Falon'Din managed a smile. "We are, aren't we?" he chuckled. "Rather humorous to think two people so different and many centuries apart are in the same boat."

Arla smiled, revealing a gap between her front teeth. "We'll get through together then, right, Falon? Ooh, I got it right that time!" She cleared her throat and her cheerful face became stoic again. "A-anyways, my sword is yours, should you require it."

" _Ma serannas_." Falon'Din bowed his head to her. "Also, my original name was Falon," he informed her, not really knowing why. "Dirthamen was Dirth." He sighed. "My family really did get screwed up, didn't it? To have brothers trying to kill one another and another set of brothers barely able to talk to one another."

"Try being disowned." Arla's eyes widened. "I didn't say that."

"I think when both parents would rather kill you it trumps being disowned." He smiled at her. He was well aware that Arla was someone who would rather be seen the way she wanted to be seen. He rather envied her for having courage to be herself.

His attention moved away from Arla and to the place they had entered. Dirthamen had stopped them at the edge of what looked to be a camp. It was honestly the first time Falon'Din had seen a Dalish camp. His first thoughts disgusted him for he thought only of how trashy this looked then he felt his heart sink as he realized what had become of the People his family had once sworn to protect.

"I will meet you and Deshanna after I speak with Milliel," Dirthamen told Solas.

Solas raised an eyebrow. "You left without a word?"

"Unwise," said Sinderon. It had been the first time the hunter had spoken since they started for the camp.

"Good luck," Bora smirked.

Dirthamen chuckled. "I wrought it upon myself." He gave Bora a slight bow. "Even knowing I would get yelled at I still left without a word." His smile vanished and Falon'Din had to follow his brother's gaze to see why.

"Mahvir!"

Falon'Din watched as a red haired woman stomped towards them clearly unhappy.

"Where have you been? You've had me worried sick! Did you really think I'd just let you poof off without letting me know what's going on?"

Falon'Din moved forward, ready to demand who this girl thought she was.

" _Ir abelas, ma sulahn'nehn_." Mahvir gave a slight bow of his head. "I should have explained the situation and didn't."

Falon'Din stopped in his tracks. _Ma sulahn'nehn_? Dirth had just called that girl his joy. Falon'Din stared at her. His ears rang.

The glare on the girl's face faded, and she sighed. "It's fine, _ma lath_ , I was just worried. At least you're back." Her gaze fell on Falon'Din, her face suddenly confused. "Mahvir, who's this?"

Falon'Din regarded the girl with narrowed eyes. She wasn't pretty at all. Granted, no woman - he shoved the thoughts down. "I could ask the same of you, Mort-" Falon'Din gasped when he felt Dirthamen's cane strike him. He collapsed, eyes watering.

"How dare you!" Arla jumped between him and Dirthamen. "That was uncalled for."

"Mahvir, what are you doing?" the girl demanded.

"It's fine," Falon'Din managed to say. "I deserved that. And it is the only way he can hurt me."

"Well he shouldn't be hurting anybody," the red haired girl responded. "Let's start over. I'm Milliel, and you are…?"

"Falon," Falon'Din said as he pulled himself up.

"Falon huh." Her eyes suddenly grew wide. "Wait a minute." Her eyes darted back and forth between him and Dirthamen. "Are- but he, and you, um." She seemed to struggle to form words. "Mahvir, darling." She said through gritted teeth. "Just what did you do when you left?"

"Stopped Solas from killing his nephew," Dirthamen stated.

Darling? _His nephew_? Falon'Din stared at his brother. His heart ached. He had really lost him for what Falon'Din had done.

"It's still an option to hand him to his mother," Solas said. He had Falon'Din's scythe on his back with his staff. "That way we don't get our hands dirty."

" _Ma serannas_ , Uncle," Falon'Din said in dry tones. "I think I would rather face the Abyss again first."

"So, he's really?" The girl, Milliel's face grew even paler. "And you brought him _here_ , are you insane?!"

"We are going to need his help to stop a far greater threat, _ma sulahn'nehn_." Dirthamen touched her face, his touch, tender and loving.

For a moment hot jealousy raced through Falon'Din. Then another emotion. The look on his brother's face was one he had never seen before even from the girl he had a crush on who had been aiming to use him. He was happy. Falon'Din looked away from his brother. For the first time, his brother was truly happy.

"If you say so," Milliel sighed. "I just, I get worried about you, you know? And I can't exactly go out and fight beside you, not with these guys in the way at least."

Falon'Din looked back at the girl so fast he cricked his neck. She was pregnant?! She was pregnant by Dirthamen? This was - it wasn't happening, right? But if it was then-then - Falon'Din took a deep breath. Then he would be happy for his brother.

"So, just let me in on any more crazy plans of yours, okay? Help keep me from having a stroke before thirty."

"You won't have a stroke before thirty, _lath_." Dirthamen smiled at her. "But I promise to inform you when I leap into the fire next."

Falon'Din felt his heart go cold with dread. Hopefully Dirth didn't mean a literal fire.

" _Ma serannas_ ," the girl smiled. "By the way, I was not the only concerned about your return. Lori has been pestering me asking where you were. I think she wanted to show you something? Creators know what that girl is saying half the time," Milliel chuckled.

"Did you leave her alone?" Solas asked, more than a little worry apparent in his voice.

It was hard not to laugh at Solas's tone. It reminded Falon'Din of when he and Dirth had been little.

Milliel huffed. "Of course not, what do you take me for? She's with my mother right now. When I left mum was speaking to Keeper Deshanna."

Solas paled a little though his demeanor didn't change. "I will go ahead to retrieve Lori." He shot a look at Falon'Din.

"I have no intentions to harm my cousin, Uncle."

"Excuse me for not believing you."

"What's this about harm?" The redhead crossed her arms, eyes narrowed at Falon'Din. "You better be on your best behavior, got it?"

Falon'Din regarded the woman before him. Even in his "weakened" state she was little better than a instant in power compared to him. "Or you will what? Poke me with that toy bow you people have?"

"Falon," Dirthamen's voice was hushed, but harsh. " _Be silent_." His brother shot him a cold look.

Solas's eyes narrowed a little further. He looked at Falon'Din for a heartbeat before he strode off, still carrying Falon'Din's scythe.

The expression on Milliel's face lessened, as if unsure of her words. If she did regret them, she did not show it as she turned to Dirthamen. " _Ma lath,_ I'm certain the keeper would like to speak to you about this. Shall we go see her? Also, I hate to bring this up, but mum asked if we'd like to have dinner with her tonight. And also you have no choice. We _are_ having dinner with her, I'm just letting you know. There's no way out of this, she'd have a cow otherwise and I'm not in the mood for that."

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow. "I would love the pleasure of both yours and her company this evening." Dirth gave a slight bow. His hair moved just enough for Falon'Din to see deformed flesh of his ear and neck.

Falon'Din looked away.

"Bora, Sinderon, if you two would be so kind as to accompany us to the keeper?" Dirthamen turned to the other two.

"We bringing him too?" Bora asked, pointing to Falon'Din. "What do we say when we're asked who the mysterious masked man is?"

"My original name was Falon," Falon'Din stated.

"Oh, the irony," Bora retorted dryly.

"To be safe, I would advise a different name than that one," Dirthamen advised.

"How about _Alas?_ " Bora suggested with a smirk.

"Uncle," Sinderon said.

"What? It's a simple, and appropriate, name."

Rage tore through Falon'Din. He turned his gaze on the mortal with tainted blood. He could feel his eyes burning as his powers started to course through him. "What did you just call me, insect?" Falon'Din growled. The air crackled with his power. Each passing second it pulsed stronger, potent to the mortals.

"Creators," Dirthamen muttered. Dirthamen limped between them. His cane rested on Falon'Din's chest. "Enough!" Dirthamen's voice was stern.

"Whoa, struck a nerve did I?"

"Uncle, do you really think it wise to antagonize him further?"

Bora put his hands up, expression nonchalant for one who was the target of Falon'Din's ire. "All right, let's agree we're all pretty and get over to the Keeper before somebody explodes."

Sinderon sighed.

"Falon, _calm down_ ," Dirthamen whispered in elvish. In common he added, "We will call him 'Athim' for now." With that he turned and limped off.

The moment his brother moved, the anger fled Falon'Din. His eyes locked on his brother's bad leg. He managed to take a step after Dirthamen without racing to try and help him. His brother snapping at him to not touch him rang in his ears with each slow pace behind Dirthamen.

The group walked further into the Dalish camp. Many of the other elves stared at Falon'Din as they passed, curiosity and wariness evident on their marked faces.

Falon'Din eyed the people they passed. He noted many with his _vallaslin_ marking their skin much like Arla. He glanced at the woman. She seemed more on edge within the camp, her silence was only a reminder they were among the enemy here. Well, what had once been the enemy. His gaze moved back to the Dalish, to what the People had become.

Soon they approached a large campfire where many elves were gathered.

An older woman spotted them and stood, patting the shoulder of another woman who sat beside her.

"There they are!"

" _Aneth ara_ , mum," Milliel sighed as the woman flittered over to them.

"You had us quite worried, Mahvir," the older woman told Dirthamen. "Poor Milly was having a fit all morning."

"I was not," Milliel denied.

"Anyways," the woman continued, ignoring the redhead. "It's good you're back, as I have question about dinner toni- now what's this?" The woman peered over Milliel's shoulder at Falon'Din and Arla. "Who is this? Are they from one of our sister clans?"

Falon'Din glanced around. Dirthamen's sentinels had stopped further back from where they stood. Their gaze on him. He turned his attention back to this woman as he spoke in cool tones, "I am not Dalish." He folded his arms across his chest. "Or City Elvhen and especially not a _slave_." Falon'Din bit his lip when Dirthamen struck his little toe with the cane. It wasn't much pain, especially considering how weak Dirthamen was now. Most of the pain was just in the realization his brother had lost a lot of what little physical strength he had. "My apologies," Falon'Din managed to speak straight. "I am," he hesitated, "Athim." He wondered what would happen if he did announce his real name. Probably disbelief.

"Athim, a lovely name," the woman smiled. "And you, dear?"

Arla's head snapped up. "M-me?"

The woman laughed. "Yes, dear, I was asking you."

"Arla," the warrior replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Ah, yet another lovely name," the woman smiled. She turned her head. "Keeper, you didn't say we were going to have visitors."

The older woman regarded Falon'Din with a steely gaze. It almost reminded Falon'Din of the look Mythal had given whenever he had made an error and tried to do something for Dirth like when he had dragged all the stone from the training yard and built that staircase.

"So, you are the ones the patrol captured," her voice was just steely as voice.

Falon'Din met her gaze. She didn't look away which was odd for a mortal to do. Few could look him long in eye, even back in Elvhenan, some had said they saw their own deaths reflected there. "Our information is yours, on one condition."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You lock only me up and only strip Arla of her weapons. No questioning her, placing your hands on her or mistreating her."

"Oh my, the patrol _captured_ them?" the other woman's hand went to her mouth. "But they don't look like prisoners."

"What are prisoners supposed to look like, mum?" Milliel asked exasperated.

The older woman must have been Deshanna, keeper of this clan. Her gaze moved from Falon'Din to Arla then back. She regarded Falon'Din and he forced himself to hold himself nobly despite the plain shirt and pants he wore. He still had more gold on him than this clan would have ever seen before, but it was hidden under his gloves.

"As long as she doesn't harm any of my clan we will treat her as you ask."

"My thanks, Keeper," Falon'Din knew his voice was cool as he said this. "My father is the one who ordered the capture of," he hesitated and bit back saying "the mortal girl's" or "Fen'Harel's mate's" for something more polite, "your fellow clan mate in the name of an Andrastian Cult. She has since escaped with the aid of another prisoner. An old man named Inan. My father will be turning his gaze on your clan knowing the," he hesitated again, "Herald of Andraste will be trying to return here."

"Why warn us? Turn yourself into us if your father is the leader of this cult?" asked the keeper, her gaze was locked on his once more.

"I don't take being stabbed in the back lightly, Keeper. Even if you strung me up on a pole before the attack, it wouldn't sway my father from attacking the clan. He cares nothing for my life, only his goals." And revenge, he added the last part to himself.

"Deshanna, a battle is coming to the clan. The cult which captured Nimwen will try to take us before Nimwen and her fellow escapee manage to meet up with us," Dirthamen informed the keeper.

"What do you suggest, Mahvir?" Deshanna turned her attention to Dirthamen. The moment she did, there was a change in her demorinor. She looked to him as a friend and a counsel. But it was more than that. She respected him, in such away it was as deep as the respect the People had shown them before they had become gods to the People. He wasn't just an elvhen to her, but not a god either. He was a savior.

"I can devise countermeasures and get back to you before they will arrive. For now, the clan should continue forward, maintaining any position for too long will only present more opportunities for us to be attacked. We should only stop to rest the halla and hunt while we're on the move."

Deshanna nodded. "Agreed." She looked to Sinderon and Bora. "Sinderon, please see the prisoner to one of the spare _aravels_."

"Yes, Keeper," Sinderon nodded.

"Are you sure about this?" Arla asked Falon'Din. "I should be with you, there's no reason for you to be locked up alone."

Falon'Din managed a smile from under his mask. "I believe an _aravel_ will be nicer than the last place I was locked up. Besides, it is common courtesy to take a lady's place in a prison cell." He turned to Sinderon. "Shall we get this over with?"

"L-lady?" he heard Arla mumble.

"Let's go," Sinderon said. He turned to Bora. "Uncle, are you coming?"

"I think I'll sit this one out," Bora replied as he sat by the fire. "You can handle this one, plus these old bones need some warming," he added with a dramatic sigh.

Sinderon rolled his eyes.

Falon'Din followed after Sinderon into one of the smaller _aravels_. He didn't complain when he was chained to the far side.

Falon'Din didn't know how long he sat alone in the _aravel_. He was chained to the far side in plain view of the door. He could feel movement of the _aravel_ lurch to a halt. The next moment, the door was opened. A familiar figure struggled into the small space.

"Dirth." Falon'Din felt his eyes widen. The last person he had expected to see was Dirthamen.

The _aravel_ started to move the second the door snapped shut behind Dirthamen. Dirthamen placed his cane against one of the beds before he settled himself far from Falon'Din. " _I came to speak with you_ ," Dirthamen started.

" _I thought you hated me for all I've done to you,_ Dirth." Falon'Din looked at his brother, pain twisted his heart. It hurt to see what he had done to Dirthamen. The pain he caused his dearest brother.

" _I wouldn't use hate_." Dirthamen's gaze was calm and far wiser than Falon'Din remembered. " _After I fled, I was lost. I didn't know how to survive on my own and didn't want to continue on._ "

Falon'Din felt his stomach churn and throat burn with bile.

" _Despite this, I did learn to stand on my own and found a joy in helping my People_ ," Dirthamen smiled at Falon'Din. " _If you had never tried to kill me, I would never have learned my own strengths and kept dwelling on my weaknesses_."

" _I_ _should never have listened to Elgar'nan. I should have followed what I wanted and not harm you. Can you ever forgive what I did to you, brother_?" The words were soft. It hurt to ask this even knowing all he had caused in Dirthamen's life.

" _I've long since forgiven you for what you did to me_ ," Dirthamen said.

" _Then why tell me not touch you,_ help _you_?"

" _Do I truly need help,_ Falon?" Dirthamen gave a small, almost sad smile. " _I've been like this for ten centuries. I know my limits and can take care of myself_."

" _You're still mad_ ," Falon'Din whispered. While his brother didn't look mad or even have a hint of it in his voice, he still knew Dirthamen better than anyone else despite not having him at his side for twenty centuries.

" _I've forgiven you for what you did to me personally, not what you've done to Nimwen or the fact you view my mate as an insect_."

Falon'Din flinched. " _How can I earn your forgiveness_?"

" _Stop viewing People as lesser. I love her,_ Falon _, though I realize I will outlive her_." Dirthamen looked away from him for a heartbeat. " _Help us get Nimwen back_ ," he spoke in soft tones as he looked back at Falon'Din. " _Earn her forgiveness and that of Lorien, then you will have earned back my complete forgiveness_."

For the first time in centuries, Falon'Din felt a weight lift from him. He smiled. " _My thanks, brother_." He choked on the next words, voice less than a whisper, " _I've missed you_."

Dirthamen stood. He used the bed for support in place of his cane as he moved over the Falon'Din. He sank down to the floor beside Falon'Din. " _And I, you_."

The world felt as if it had righted itself the instant his brother's warmth was beside him. Hot tears burned Falon'Din's eyes. His hand closed around Dirthamen's. He could feel the scarred flesh of his brother's hand. His heart ached. The torment of the past twenty centuries was nothing compared to how much it hurt to see his brother burned and crippled. Yet, in the same instance, Falon'Din's heart was light, warm and filled with joy. He wrapped his fingers around his brothers.

" _Thank you,_ Dirthamen." Falon'Din closed his eyes. He was content with his brother so close to him. It was right. He leaned into Dirthamen. His brother's scent was familiar, warm and comforting. In this moment there was no pain, no anger, only a long since forgotten happiness and sense of complete safety. Falon'Din let the exhaustion wash over. His eyes closed as he drifted into a deep sleep.

*~ x ~*

"I shouldn't be doing this," Milliel whispered to herself as she approached the _aravel._

Mahvir told her that he was going to pay a visit to his-his brother. _Brother_. Milliel couldn't believe he was actually here. Falon'Din, one of the Creators, and the source of much torment for her husband. She had no idea why Mahvir hadn't taken him out already, let alone brought him back to camp. Well, she _knew_ why. He had information on how to get Nimwen back, and for that, and for Mahvir, she would tolerate him in camp. It didn't stop her from worrying about Mahvir though. She intended on checking in to make sure her mate was all right, though what she could possibly do if Falon'Din decided to attack was beyond her.

"Just checking in," Milliel repeated to herself. "Just being a good wife, yeah."

Soon she was close to the _aravel_ she knew they were in. The clan was on the move again, but growing up she learned how to commute easily between the moving _aravels,_ even now when pregnant. As she stepped onto the _aravel_ in front of the door, she noticed out of the corner of her eye someone sitting on the _aravel_ ledge. She turned and realized it was the armored woman who'd accompanied Falon'Din.

"Arla, right?" Milliel asked. She received no response, which was what made her realize that the warrior was asleep.

She sat with her knees up, head resting on her elbows, a position that looked downright uncomfortable given she still wore her armor.

Milliel was going to wake her, but after seeing the faint shadows under her eyes, decided against it. However uncomfortable it might have been, it appeared a rest was in order for the woman.

The redhead turned back to the door, taking in a breath. "You're not nosy, you're concerned," she convinced herself. She carefully turned the doorknob and inched the door open quietly, poking her head inside.

The pale light of the sun moved across the floor. Mahvir's cane rested close to the door, just out of the way of anyone who would enter. The light fell across two figures at the far end of the _aravel_. A soft ending of a song greeted Milliel:

 _Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

 _Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

Mahvir looked up at her and placed one finger over his lips. Falon'Din's chest rose and fell his head rested across Mahvir's lap, the mask gone from his face. Strands of dark hair fell over scarred flesh around his closed eyes. Mahvir moved his thumb across his brother's forehead in a rhythmic motion, brushing some of Falon'Din's hair from his face. His nose appeared to have been ripped off, he was missing most of his upper lip and bone was peaking through on Falon'Din's cheeks.

Milliel froze, unsure what to do. She had no idea under that mask would be something so gruesome. She wondered what in Thedas happened to him, and at the same time wondered if she wanted to know. Quietly she stepped inside, her feet silent on the wooden floor. She settled herself on the floor, legs crossed, her back against the wall. She looked from Falon'Din to Mahvir, silent.

"When he's like this, I see all I was blind to in his life," Mahvir whispered to her after a long moment. "Only when he's in a complete sleep does he drop the defenses and reveal his past." He looked from her to his brother, eyes sad.

"What happened?" Milliel asked quietly.

"Twenty centuries ago, Falon'Din tried to kill me because he learned we had different fathers." Mahvir's voice was even and soft. He didn't break in rubbing his brother's head. "What I could never see until now is the conversations between him and Elgar'nan. It had been Elgar'nan who had learned Mythal had lied about him being my father and ordered Falon'Din to kill me. I can see Falon'Din's struggles with this act since he had been ordered to do so." Mahvir closed his eyes. "His struggles with every order Elgar'nan gave though he tried to drown them in anger as he thought Elgar'nan did."

"I see." Milliel looked at Falon'Din. While this little discovery hadn't reversed all her feelings towards her, well, her brother-through-bonding, knowing it wasn't all of his own volition lessened some of her ill will. "And his…?" Milliel gestured to her face.

"My doing," Dirthamen's voice broke. His fingers dropped to Falon'Din's scar. "During the final battle with the others, Falon'Din and I were locked in a fight. The greatest fear Fear could pick up from him was to lose what was most important to him. I had assumed then it was his looks." Dirthamen took a deep breath. "He wanted Elgar'nan to love him, to accept him," Mahvir whispered. "I once wanted that as well, more than anything, but Elgar'nan cares for nothing other than himself."

Mahvir looked at Milliel. "I'm not asking for you to forgive him, I haven't for what he has done to Lorien and Nimwen. But what you must understand is he was once gentle and loving to all living creatures. He wanted the passing of others to be painless and would do anything to ease that pain. He would play flutes or carry them any distance they needed as long as it eased their pain even a little. That is the brother I loved. The one I lost to war and the desire to please a father."

Milliel felt her chest tighten. She could hear the sadness in her husband's voice. She reached up and took his free hand. "Maybe he can change," she said, lacing their fingers together. "I'd love for that to happen, but I don't want you to get hurt by getting your hopes up, _ma lath_."

"He is lost, searching for that part of him he lost in all the centuries of trying to please Elgar'nan and Mythal." Mahvir closed his eyes. His fingers tightened in her hand, the grip weaker than normal. "He needs someone to believe in him as a friend did me." He looked at Milliel. " _Lath_ , he needs me," Dirthamen whispered, his gaze pained as he looked her.

"I-I know," Milliel replied. "I understand, and I'm going to be here for you, Mahvir. Please, just be careful, I don't want to see you hurt anymore."

Mahvir bowed his head to Milliel. "Thank you." He then managed a weak smile. "Falon'Din will sleep until morning, if you would so kind as to help me up so we don't miss that dinner with your mother, I would be eternally grateful." He paused. "Just don't worry if I am not there when you wake." He moved his hand and touched her face.

Milliel smiled. "Very well." She helped Mahvir stand while avoiding waking up Falon'Din. "I just want you to know," she whispered. "I think you're an amazing brother, and I hope he realizes that."

" _Ma serannas, lath_." Mahvir looked at Falon'Din.

Falon'Din curled up tighter on the floor, mumbling in elvish as he slept.

Mahvir turned back to her and nod. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

* * *

 **Flame:** "The brothers were inseparable from the moment of their conception, known for their great love for each other. That is why we often speak of Falon'Din in one breath and Dirthamen the next, for they cannot bear to be apart, not even in our tales." - excerpt from the codex entry: Dirthamen: Keeper of Secrets.

Falon'Din = clingy brother.


	23. Chapter 23

"We're here," Nimwen said, relieved.

Halamshiral. The first time Nimwen had been here was during Celene's ball, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd been asleep in her carriage when they'd arrived to the city, and so had not experienced arriving with her own eyes. Her impression of the city was similar to that of Val Royeaux; appreciation mixed with wariness. However, amidsts the Orlesian splendor Nimwen could spot hints of her own people's influence. They were small, frivolous touches within the architecture, and the fact they were overshadowed by Orlais' handiwork disappointed her.

"Where do you suggest we go?" Nimwen asked her companion. "Despite my connections, I doubt you wish for us to stop by the Winter Palace, am I correct?"

Inan had stopped a few paces back. His head bowed and hands clasped before. "There is much pain here. It echoes through the Veil in cries of our People, lost hopes, lost lives."

"Inan." Butter pawed his foot.

Inan jumped. "W-what?" His eyes were wide as he looked around. "My apologies, Lady Nimwen." He raced to catch up with her. The chains clicked against the stone ground. "I have enough gold we can get a wagon and horse as well as supplies for you. We can't have you on a diet of just meat." He wagged his finger before her. "That's not good for the little ones."

"Indeed, though they seem to have a love for ham," Nimwen chuckled. "I myself however, wouldn't mind something besides mutton. Or a real bed for that matter."

Inan chuckled. "A bed would do you worlds' of good." He frowned. "I'll see if we can get bed to add to the wagon. But," he paused, "this place, this time doesn't feel kind to our People." He glanced around, eyes weary. " _Where did I lead them_?" he whispered this last part to himself in elvish.

"I'm not sure how much you know, but this was once the capital of the Dales," Nimwen explained. "It was once our People's kingdom, but now it is a part of Orlais. Elves have been treated worse than awfully, but slowly things are changing," she assured him. "The Marquis of the Dales is now for the first time an elf, and she has already started to improve things, slowly, but surely. The Divine passed laws that allow elves among the clergy and restored Shartan's Canticle. It's been slow, but there is progress being made, and I want to help in any way I can as well."

"Threads of hatred which run so deep can not be broken through small acts of kindness, but they will start to tear." Inan sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Let us focus on what we need to get you back to your clan." He started off once more.

Nimwen let out a sigh. _'Perhaps I said too much,'_ she thought to herself. In truth, being back in Halamshiral, a reminder of what had been taken from her People, made her think of the changes the past few years had brought, to assure herself things were getting better. As she followed behind Inan, her hand found her stomach. "I pray you two grow up in a world far better than mine," she said.

Inan had stopped once more. This time he was frowning at one of the buildings. They had come to where the Chantry was located in the city. "So, this is what Nan was using?" He stepped forward a little then stopped close to the entrance.

Butter's tail fluffed out and she scampered around Nimwen's legs. Her blue eyes were wide. "Inan, don't enter," Butter hissed.

"Hmm?" Inan looked at Butter and Nimwen, one eyebrow raised.

"You do know what this is, right?" Nimwen asked him. "It's the Halamshiral Chantry."

Inan looked at the building. He edged a little closer. "A place of Worship, interesting." The chains around his ankles started to glow.

"Butter, why are they glowing?" Nimwen asked, concerned.

Butter arched her back, hissing. "Inan, get away from there. There are enchantments, old ones. I feel it in the air."

"There is something almost familiar about this place," Inan whispered. He took another step towards the door, hand lifted. He stopped, eyes on his hand. A soft golden glow had come over his fingertips.

"Inan." Nimwen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything all right?"

Inan kept his eyes on his hand. "This isn't possible, nothing should be able to break it." He lowered his hand. "I believe Butter is right, this isn't a place I should enter."

Nimwen could feel the tension in the cat ease since Butter was still pressed against her leg. "Let's leave it then," she suggested.

"Agreed, there's nothing there for us anyway," Nimwen added. "Let's see about getting a wagon, or a good meal. No more mutton remember?" she added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes," the word trailed as Inan tore his gaze from the Chantry. "Let's see what we can find." He backed up a little. The chains stopped glowing. A troubled look had settled in Inan's eyes. "Perhaps pickles or other jarred goods so they can stay fresh during the trip," he half asked, but the troubled look didn't leave.

"That sounds like a good idea," Nimwen replied, trying to sound easy going but looking at the chains with worry. She wasn't sure what had, or almost had, happened, but she was convinced she needed to keep an eye on Inan, and keep him away from Chantries. "Perhaps some dried fruit would be nice too?"

Inan smiled. "Of course." It turned out Inan hadn't been kidding about having a lot of gold. They bought a horse and wagon first before they moved off to get supplies near the city limits. "We can restock at another city if need be, but I would rather avoid places with too many people or too few for that matter."

"Agreed," Nimwen nodded. As they walked amongst the city Nimwen was eyeing every passerby. It was unlikely many of the average citizens would recognize her as the Inquisitor, but she feared the longer they were in public that one person would catch her in their sight and call her out. Secrecy was one of the few things keeping her alive at this point, and she dreaded what would happen if Elgar'nan and Falon'Din got wind of her being in the city. She combed her hair with her fingers to cover her _vallaslin_ and avoided eye contact with anyone, hoping she'd blend in.

A weight fell over Nimwen's shoulder and sharp tug was followed by a hood being pulled up over her head.

"There!" Inan grinned. "I also picked up more than that little cloak." He pointed a bag at his feet. "Just something so that you're not wearing the same thing forever and that dress is starting to get too small for you as it is." He nodded. "I also don't have a desire to walk around in burned clothes."

"I-" Nimwen touched the hood, adjusting it. She looked at the bag and stared down at her clothes. It had been so long, she almost forgot she'd been wearing the same dress for over two months. The fabric was faded and torn and was a shadow of its former self. Not to mention how tight it'd gotten around her growing stomach. To think Inan had thought to replace it…

" _Ma serannas,"_ said Nimwen, feeling her eyes grow misty. "You are too kind to me, Inan."

Inan rubbed the back of his head. "I'd be a poor grandfather if I let you starve and wear that tattered thing," he joked. "Come, we should head off before too much longer, you can change in the covered wagon." He lifted the bag. A golden light wrapped around his hand to help him carry the bag.

The wagon had been packed with supplies. Inan had set up a straw bed in one side of the wagon for her. He slid the bag of clothes in beside the bed, making for a tight fit with everything else. The wagon wasn't large. There was about two feet between the edge of the bed and the end of the wagon. The bed was just long enough for someone Nimwen's height. The right side of the wagon held the supplies Inan and she had bought

"Wash," Inan nodded to a bucket of water, "then get some rest after you change. I'll see to the horse staying on the path." Inan closed the flaps to the back of the wagon.

"Sounds like a plan," Nimwen replied. She laid out her new dress and started to take off her old one. As she peeled the ragged mess of a dress from her skin, she grimaced at how grimy it was. With all that had happened to her since her capture, hygiene was put at the bottom of her priorities, and she only now realized how long it'd been since she'd had a proper wash. She scooped water from the bucket with her hands and started scrubbing her skin. It wasn't the best method, but it was better than leaving months of filth on herself. After getting her body and face as clean as she could, she dipped her hair into the bucket and scrubbed her scalp. Her hair was a horrid mess, like a literal rat's nest, and Nimwen wasn't sure if she'd ever get it untangled.

' _Wonder how I'd look with cropped hair. Hope Solas wouldn't mind,'_ she joked to herself. Thinking of her love sent a pang through her chest. She'd been doing her best not to think of her family, despite them being the thing that had been keeping her going through this madness. She missed Solas terribly, along with Lori and the rest of her kin.

She wrung the water from her hair, grimacing at the rough feeling of knots and tangles in her hands, and reached for her new dress. Slipping on the clean clothing brought a sigh of relief from her lips. Somehow the simple dress felt like the start of something better. Like she was finally taking back control.

"You chose well," she told Inan, a pleased smile on her face.

A soft chuckle came from the other side of the wagon's flap. The wagon jolted as Inan started the horse forward. "I am glad you're pleased, Lady Nimwen."

"Starting to feel like an actual lady again, instead of a ghoul," she chuckled. "Though it'd be nice if I could do something about this mess on my head. You don't by chance have a comb do you? Or a knife?"

"Knife!" Inan squawked. "You're not cutting your hair!" He cleared his throat. "There should be a brush and comb among the clothes I got you. Just dig through the bag."

"Okay, calm down," Nimwen laughed as she searched the bag. "I don't see what the problem would be if I did cut it. It's just hair." She managed to find a comb hidden amongst the bag's contents.

"Hmm, yes, but short hair wouldn't look too good on you," Inan teased.

Nimwen huffed. "I've had short hair for most of my life, I'll have you know. This is actually the longest it's ever been." The mage winced when the comb tugged on a knot. "Now I'm starting to question growing it out," she grumbled while freeing the comb.

Inan chuckled. "Well, I do see a point. We can worry about hair length later though. After you're done, you really should try to get some rest."

"Yes, father," Nimwen teased.

"Damn straight I am!" Inan joked.

Nimwen shook her head as she continued combing her hair. After a while she managed to make her hair somewhat decent and called it a day. "I'm going to lie down now," she said to Inan.

"Good, you'd better!"

She sat down on the bed and situated herself. It may have been straw, but it beat sleeping on the ground. She laid on her side, the only way she could sleep now with her swollen belly. "Goodnight, father." Nimwen blinked, realizing what she said. Earlier she'd been joking, but that came out without her thinking. She felt her face grow red as she waited for a response.

"Goodnight, young one," there was sincerity in Inan's voice.

Nimwen felt herself relax, glad he didn't seem to mind her little slipup. That's what it was, right? She wondered how he'd feel if she continued to call him- _'That can wait,'_ she told herself. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the tension leave her frame as she tried falling asleep.

*~ x ~*

Solas pulled the blanket higher over Lori's shoulders. His daughter had only just fallen asleep for a nap which would be all too short. He sighed and moved so that he was laying on the bed beside her. Her nightmares seemed less when he lay or even slept next to her.

"May your dreams be guarded, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas whispered. He watched her for a time before her breathing lulled him to sleep.

Solas opened his eyes to the Fade. For the first time in a long time, he felt his daughter's dream was bright and happy without him there with her. He smiled, heart filling with warmth. He would keep an eye on her while she slept, but there was another he wanted to find. Though he doubted his dearest heart would be asleep this early.

A familiar presence moved to Solas through the Fade. Solas frowned. He stepped forward. His eyes widened. "Nimwen!" Solas raced forward.

The Fade guided him, lending speed to his feet until he was bounding through it as a white wolf. His heart raced. Fear bled into excitement until his ears roared with the emotions.

His body shifted back to an elf moments before he stumbled into Nimwen's dream. "Nimwen!"

"Solas?" Nimwen turned to him, eyes wide. In her dream they stood in what looked like the snows of Haven. She shifted towards him hesitantly. "Is that-is it really you?"

His eyes burned. "Nimwen!" He embraced her. "It's me, _ma vhenan_." It took a lot of self control to not kiss her there and then. It was a dream. Yet, he wanted nothing more than to hold her to him. "Were you injured? Are you and the baby all right?" he asked, finger on her chin so he could look into her beautiful eyes.

"I'm fine, we're all fine." She cupped his face, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't believe you're really here," she smiled. "I can finally tell you. Solas, it's, we're having twins."

Solas embraced her. "I know," he whispered. He pulled back a little. "Falon'Din turned himself over to the clan a week ago. He hasn't been out of the _aravel_ the keeper has him chained in. He's not come anywhere near Lori."

"He-he turned himself in?" Nimwen frowned in confusion. "I don't understand, why would he do that, why is he being kept anywhere near the clan?"

Solas bowed his head. "Elgar'nan ordered him killed after he defended someone named Inan. He and another of the cult fled and are giving us information on what has happened. Though, he is being rather good about keeping his mouth shut on his and his father's real names." Solas shook his head. "Dirthamen believes we stand a chance if Falon'Din fights with the clan."

Nimwen looked like she wanted to say something, but sighed instead. "I suppose if he stood up for Inan, it's worth hearing him out," she said. "Solas, how is Lori? Is she all right? The last I saw her was when-" There was a catch in her voice. "Please tell me they didn't hurt her."

Solas felt his heart twist. He bowed his head. "She was injured in the escape," he confessed, "but not greatly. Your brother has been helping me help her through it and she's starting to act like herself again."

"'Act like herself again?' What do you mean, Solas?" There was worry and fear in her voice.

Solas eased Nimwen to the ground. " _Ir abelas, ma vhenan_. She was in shock over what happened. It's all right, she is fine and safe." He held Nimwen in his arms. "You will be soon as well. Where are you?"

"We left Halamshiral not too long ago," she told him. Tears slipped from her eyes as she hugged Solas. " _Ir abelas, vhenan_ ," she cried. "This has all been my fault. If-if I hadn't started that fight, if I didn't take off with Lori maybe…" She buried her face in his shoulder as her frame shook. " _Ir abelas._ "

"Hush, _Vhenan_." Solas soothed her hair. "It's more my fault. I shouldn't have been overprotective." He kissed her head. "I should have listened more to you than I did."

"No, you were right," she shook her head. "I didn't want to think I was helpless and look where that got me, look what that did to Lori." She sniffed. "I should be with you, with Lori, with Mahvir. I should be fussing over a wedding, not lying awake worrying if I'll give birth among mad cultists instead of my family, and you shouldn't be worrying either." She looked up at him. "I've missed you so much, _ma vhenan_." She kissed him. "I'm going to find you, I promise."

Solas returned her kiss with one of his own. "Now, I can find you in the Fade, it will be easier for the clan to find you."

A purr sounded behind them.

Solas jumped and blinked as he found himself staring into two bright blue eyes of a cat. "Faith?" he breathed. He had rarely seen one of the few and extremely shy spirits of Faith let alone seen one as a cat.

"Butter, what are you doing here?" Nimwen asked through gritted teeth.

"Butter?" Solas frowned. The cat was a spirit of Faith. Who in their right mind would name one after lard?

Faith's purr deepened. "Inan felt your dream become distressed and asked for me to make certain you were all right since he can't drive and sleep." Her whiskers twitched. "I see he had nothing to worry about after all, just two lovers meeting one another after a long time."

Solas scowled. This spirit had personality, as much as the two who were bound to Dirthamen. It was an old and extremely powerful spirit.

"I prefer 'she' over 'it,' little pride."

"Butter, this is Solas," Nimwen said. " _Vhenan,_ this is Butter. She and Inan are close companions."

"Oh, I know who he is, Nimwen," Faith meowed. "He has his father's eyes and eyebrows, though that serious look isn't his father's more Nalas if you ask me." Her tail twitched.

Solas blinked. "Pardon?"

"U-um…" Nimwen suddenly grew uneasy.

"You knew my mother?" Solas asked. His curiosity was peaked. He had never thought he would meet a spirit as old as him let alone older. Not after Wisdom had been killed.

"Quite the warrior," Faith stated. "Her faith in your father was strong as was her faith you would find him."

"My father was killed."

"Was he?" Faith licked her paw. "My, such a shame." She stood and stretched. "Well, I see Nimwen is safe." She bounded off the rock and vanished.

"Wait!" Solas shouted. He could feel the spirit had gone from the Fade completely and scowled.

"Sorry about that," Nimwen said. "She's not always the most forth giving of people- er, cats."

"She's older than Fear and Deceit," Solas stated. "I never thought I'd met a spirit older than them, outside of the Forbidden Ones." Faith could very well be older than Elvhenan. The idea was almost thrilling. He sat back down.

"She's quite something," Nimwen agreed. She settled against Solas's chest, tracing patterns into his shirt. "I've missed you so much, _vhenan_ ," she repeated. "It feels like a lifetime since I was with the clan. So much has changed, it seems." Her other hand went to her stomach. "Some more than others, perhaps," she jested.

Solas managed a small smile. "I can try to catch you up on news within the clan if you so wish, _vhenan_."

"I'd like that, yes," she smiled.

So Solas started to fill her in on what had happened. He closed with the latest news. "The clan _hahren_ fell ill a fortnight ago."

"Hahren Theon?" Nimwen frowned. "Is he all right?"

"I don't know, he's been with the healer since and there is no news which has been given to the clan. The keeper met with a few others in the clan when he first fell ill, other than this, no one is being told anything." He paused. "The healer requested for those who have injuries to stop by but he would help them to their _aravel_ after treatment and check on them there."

"I hope he is all right, he's been hahren since my grandparents were kids," Nimwen said. "Grandpa Namwin used to love his stories."

Solas blinked. "I hadn't realized he was that old," he chuckled. "Though, I am far from one talk there."

Nimwen smirked. "True." She sighed. "I hope he recovers. It would be a shame to lose such a good man."

Solas didn't speak.

"Solas, when I wake up, or you wake up, can you promise me something?"

"Yes, _vhenan_?"

"Tell Lori," Nimwen took a deep breath, "Tell Lori that _mamae_ loves her very much, and that I'll be coming home soon, okay? Tell her I'm sorry she had to go through that and that I would have stopped it if I could have."

"I promise." Solas kissed Nimwen.

*~ x ~*

Dirthamen had managed to settle himself on the outer rim of the _aravel_. His leg seared from moving to the position. Small shavings of wood fell to the greening ground the halla pulled the _aravel_ over.

The air had started to warm. Dirthamen took a deep breath. The scent of rain clung to air. Right then, the sky was dotted with beautiful, white clouds. A cool breeze blew the wood shavings from around him. Spring had graced the south early. A matter Dirthamen was most grateful for. In the same moment it showed how much time had passed since Nimwen had been taken from the clan.

She would be in her nineteenth week now. The man she was with, Inan, was keeping her safe, warm, clothed, and fed. He was traveling towards them at a steady pace which would slow over the course of the weeks to accommodate Nimwen and the twins. Dirthamen admitted he was grateful she had such a considerate traveling partner. Though, he was worried about the old magic which blocked his sight of this man's past.

Dirthamen shook his head and returned his attention to what he was carving. It was a violin. He had finished most of it the night before while Milliel had slept. There were pieces here and there which still needed refining before he finished piecing it together, but the touch ups would be dry by this afternoon. He set the violin beside him to dry.

The sentinels were close to the _aravel_. He could see them melding into the shadows around him so as not to draw attention of the clan. Most stayed so close to the shadows, no one had taken notice of the eight since their arrival.

Dirthamen's attention moved from the sentinels when he saw Deshanna would be coming. Sure enough the keeper appeared through the moving _aravels_. With the grace of a far younger woman she leapt onto the ladder leading into Dirthamen's and Milliel's _aravel_.

"Afternoon, Deshanna," Dirthamen greeted her before she could enter the _aravel_. She had come to speak with him.

The keeper jumped. Her hand on her heart. "Goodness, you could scare a darkspawn, Mahvir." Deshanna blinked and looked at where he was seated. "How did you get over there?"

"Very carefully." Mahvir gave her a smile. He lifted the violin so that she could join him. The lacquer was far from dry thus he was careful where he touched the wood so as not to upset the cure.

Deshanna pulled herself up so she was seated beside him. "An instrument is new."

"It's for Athim," Dirthamen explained, using the name he had given his brother almost a week ago. "Don't worry, I will only let him have it when I am with him."

Deshanna raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on this. Instead she turned her gaze out over the clan. Her eyes softened, becoming sad. "I am glad the weather is clearing up," she stated.

"How is Theon?"

"Teren and I are hoping the warmer weather will help him."

Dirthamen closed his eyes. He could see Theon struggling to breath even as they spoke. It wasn't going to clear up no matter how much they hoped. "How many know he's moved to the healer's _aravel_?"

"Only a few," Deshanna replied, her voice soft. "There is still hope."

Dirthamen bowed his head. "You needn't lie for my sake, Deshanna."

The keeper looked at him. Her hazel eyes misted with pain. "You have been good friends with Theon since I was little." Deshanna took a deep breath. "It's hard to picture the clan without him. I will miss his guiding voice and hearing him teach the children when Falon'Din guides him to his final resting place."

Dirthamen placed his hand on Deshanna's shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here, old friend," Deshanna whispered. She looked at him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her into a weak embrace. "I wish there was something more I could do for Theon."

"As I wish the same, but even my magic won't help ease the pain he's in."

For a long moment the two of them watched the moving _aravels_ and those who were out enjoying the good weather. Right then Deshanna needed the comfort of someone who had known Theon just as long as she had. There were few left in the clan who were over the age of forty, most were around Sinderon's and Alaula's age which only showed how many struggles Lavellan had faced in the past three years. There were a few around Bora's age, but Theon, Teren, and Deshanna were the last elders within the clan. Those few who were around Bora's age weren't really the type to enjoy stories, history, and passing on all but hunting and fighting techniques to the generations to come.

"Has he chosen who will replace him?" Dirthamen broke the silence, his heart hurt with the question.

Deshanna straightened, breaking from Dirthamen's embrace. She cleared her voice. "He wants to speak with you and me on this very matter."

The sight of his oldest friend in the clan was already in Dirthamen's mind's eye. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Another to pass before him. Another aged and would whither away.

He nodded. "All right," he whispered the words. "Let me gather my cane and speak with Milliel before we go."

Deshanna moved back over to the ladder while Dirthamen carefully tucked the violin back against the _aravel_ where no rain would be able to reach it. There was no way he would take it into the _aravel_ , not until the scent of the lacquer was gone. It would do more harm to Milliel and the babies than he was willing to risk.

With Deshanna's aid, it was easier to get get over to the ladder than it would have been on his own. She leapt from the _aravel_ so that he could enter it. Dirthamen took a deep breath and slipped inside.

Milliel looked up. She was sitting on the couple's bed. "Mahvir. I was just about to look for you. Tell me, does this look crooked to you?" She held up a long piece of red cloth. On it was what looked like a half finished embroidering of a butterfly.

"It looks fine, _ma lath_ ," Dirthamen said honestly. "Listen, I have to step out with the keeper for a bit. If you need me I will be with Teren."

"Is everything all right?" Milliel asked, standing up. "Why do you need to go to the healer's?"

Dirthamen stepped up and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "Deshanna would like me to be with her when she speaks with Theon," he didn't use any titles. Milliel was well aware of his relationship with the keeper and clan _hahren_.

"Oh," Milliel replied quietly. "Do you know when he'll get better?" She asked, threading her fingers with his.

There was no reply to this question. None he was willing to give. Dirthamen kissed her. "I will be back in a few hours, _lath_."

Milliel looked at him with a frown. "All right," she said. "Say, Onion, on your way could you ask the craftmen if they have anymore red fabric they could spare? I may need more."

At this Dirthamen chuckled. He pulled the fabric from his bag. "I did that this morning when I got lacquer for the violin."

Milliel smiled. "You're too sweet," she said, taking the fabric. "I'm making a sling for the babies. My idea is that I'd be able to have one on my back, one on my front, then I could carry the third one," she explained. "And I thought I'd make it pretty, though I've never been that good at embroidering. But it's the thought that counts, right?"

"It will look lovely." Dirthamen kissed her once more. "I will be back." He turned from her and moved out the door.

Pain lanced through Dirthamen's bad leg. He had managed to get out of the _aravel_ without it stopping, but the pain in his leg told him he had landed wrong on it. The trip to the healer's _aravel_ was a long one. Claws wrapped around Dirthamen's lungs by the time he managed to pull himself into the slowed _aravel._

A sudden heat washed over him. The feeling of warmth spread deep into his lungs and eased back the tightness though this effect was far from meant for him. His heart twisted. He limped forward.

Teren was kneeling just in the _aravel_.

"Keeper, Toymaker," he greeted them in gentle tones. " _Hahren_ Theon has been asking after you," his soft eyes were locked on Dirthamen. The healer stood. "Please."

Dirthamen leaned his cane by the door. "Deshanna?" he asked, voice soft.

Deshanna took his arm and helped Dirthamen after Teren. The healer pushed aside the flap which led into the main part of the large _aravel_. Right then only one was occupied near the back the _aravel_ towards the door which led to the healer's own room and supply space.

The soft, struggled breaths sent a jab of pain straight to Dirthamen's heart. Theon was nestled into the furs for warmth his body couldn't feel, eyes closed and wrinkled skin almost drained of color. He had little life left in his wizened, frail body. His once bright, auburn _vallaslin_ honoring Dirthamen was now faded. It had always pained Dirthamen to see Theon so happy and excited to serve the Keeper of Secrets. Dirthamen closed his eyes. If only Theon had known Dirthamen was no god.

"He's very weak," the healer informed them. He bowed his head to Dirthamen and Deshanna before moving back to the _aravels_ entrance in case any came in needing his aid.

"Theon," Deshanna whispered. She settled herself on the furs closest to Theon, her hand on his forehead. "I brought Mahvir as you requested."

Dirthamen settled himself beside Deshanna, his bad leg moved over to the central hall of the _aravel_. He removed his gloves. The cold feeling of Theon's hand was almost frightening. If not for the pulse beating through the vians Dirthamen would have thought Theon had passed.

Theon's eyes opened, his breathing ragged and thin. "Mahvir?" His fingers closed around Dirthamen's hand. His touch was weaker than even Dirthamen's.

"I'm here, _ma falon_ ," his voice was steady, none of the pain he felt at seeing his oldest friend like this showing through.

"Deshanna, I wish to speak with him alone." While his voice was frail it was a little stronger than before. There was still a good few months left in Theon.

The keeper hesitated then looked at Dirthamen. She nodded and turned back to Theon. "I'll return shortly, there are still a few clan matters we need to discuss while you're able, _ma falon_."

Theon's eyes softened and a small smile pulled at his wrinkled skin. "I would expect nothing less, Keeper."

Deshanna stood, her hand rested briefly on Dirthamen's shoulder before she moved back towards where the healer would be.

Only once she was gone did Dirthamen look back at Theon. "She's left," he informed Theon.

Theon gave the slight of nods, his breathing almost watery sounding. "I need to know," he started, "your real name."

Dirthamen looked at Theon. He knew what the _hahren_ meant. "You know who I am, Theon."

"I know one of your many names." Theon took a deep, ragged breath. "I remember all the stories you told my generation and the generations which have followed." The words were slow and yet strong in Theon's need to know. "You spoke of Arlathan and Elvhenan as if you had stood at the gates of our great empire from the very dawn of it."

"Theon," Dirthamen started. He closed his eyes.

"Who would I tell?" Theon pressed. "I never told any your other name. I would never betray you, old friend."

Dirthamen closed his eyes. It was true enough. Even among his sentinels there were none as loyal to his "god" self as Theon. Yet, in revealing - Dirthamen closed his eyes. Theon would always see him as his friend and respect him for his knowledge. Nothing would change in the few months the elder had left.

"I was there," Dirthamen confessed as he opened his eyes.

"It's not a name," he whispered, "But still, just knowing, _ma serannas_ , _falon_."

"I'm not done, old friend." Dirthamen took a deep breath. "One of my oldest names is known to all elvhen and many humans, as you well know. I never lied to my People, I was born into slavery, just not the slavery of the Imperium."

Theon's eyes were soft and pained, but he didn't interrupt.

Dirthamen took a deep breath before he lifted one of his hands. "Forgive the silence, _falon_. But to say who I am is hard without showing you." Dirthamen placed his fingers on Theon's temple.

The space vanished around them and soon they stood within the sea of time Dirthamen had shown only to Milliel and Nimwen before now. Theon stood near him no longer old but as Dirthamen would chose to remember his friend. His wispy hair now a thick, light brown.

Theon looked at his hands then turned to the sea of time itself around them. "Creators," he breathed. "The greatest pool of knowledge held within the secret of time itself." He turned on his heel, watching the scenes unfolding right then within the clan. "Deshanna's speaking with Teren," Theon chuckled. "And the little ones with some of the hunters learning all the skills they will need to protect and feed the clan." Theon grinned, eyes shining with sheer joy. He paused then chuckled. "I see Bora is getting his nephew drunk. I'm glad they're getting to know each other a little even if it is through alcohol."

A warmth spread through Dirthamen. He had known Theon would be excited, but to actually see it rather than the shock or awe was warming.

Theon turned to Dirthamen. "I think, I've always known deep down you were Dirthamen," the clan _hahren_ said.

"Theon," Dirthamen started, "I'm not a god."

Theon's eyebrows rose. "Really?" He turned to the sights before him. "No none god would have power like this. It feels like only a fraction of what you hold, Mahvir."

" _Ma serannas_ for calling me 'Mahvir,' Theon."

Theon chuckled. "You have your reasons for wanting to walk among us as one of us, who am I deny you that?" Theon looked at Dirthamen. "It might be odd to ask this of a creator, but you are now part of my clan." There was a soft chuckle in his voice which came from him not quite believing what he had just said. "There are none in the clan who can take my position. They're either too young or not interested in our People's history. You are the one who guided me to this path, _falon_. Please, I ask you to guide our clan as the next _hahren_?"

Dirthamen looked at Theon. He smiled. "It is a matter to ask Deshanna."

"Would you take the role if I requested it be you, Toymaker?"

Dirthamen looked at his old friend. He didn't want Theon to pass. Dirthamen bowed his head in agreement, hiding the images of Theon's passing from his old friend. "If I am your choice, I will do as you ask."

" _Ma serannas_."

Dirthamen removed his fingers from Theon's temple.

Theon gave a weak smiled. "That was wonderous," he whispered. " _Ma serannas_ for sharing it with me, Mahvir."

The soft sound of Deshanna returning was muffled by the furs. She moved over to them. "I hope it was enough time, _hahren_."

"It was plenty, Deshanna."

Deshanna returned to Theon's side. "Are there any in the clan you see worthy of taking your place?" she asked. "Or who you would want to secede you?"

"Allow our clan to honor Shartan," Theon started. "He can guide our history and carry it to the young through tales unmatched. He deserves a place of honor among our clan and our People." Theon's hand tighten a little in Dirthamen's.

"Mahvir?" Deshanna asked.

"I can't hunt for the clan," Dirthamen pointed out. "If it is what both you and Theon want, I would be honored to take up the role." His throat closed after he finished this.

"It would be our honor," Deshanna whispered. Her eyes pained and misted with unshed tears. "Theon?" She brushed his wispy hair from his face.

"Hold the ceremony tonight while I can still see and hear it. Please, Deshanna?"

"I promise, _falon_." Deshanna bent and kissed his forehead.

"I will help guide the clan you love, _ma falon_ ," Dirthamen whispered.

"Good, now, stop acting like I'm already dead."

Deshanna gave a choked laugh. "As you wish."

"Get some rest, I'll visit again this evening," Dirthamen promised.

" _Ma serannas, falon_." Theon closed his eyes.

Deshanna and Dirthamen left the healer's _aravel_ together. She helped him back towards his and Milliel's _aravel_. "You should speak with your wife on this."

"I will."

"Good, I don't want her passing out during the ceremony because you forgot to tell her."

"I'm not that senile!"

"Really? At your age I thought you would be."

Dirthamen chuckled. "My thanks, Deshanna."

Only once the _aravel_ had been stopped did Dirthamen pull himself up into it.

"How did it go?" Milliel asked, still working on the babysling. The butterfly was done and it looked like she was adding flowers now.

Dirthamen took a deep breath. He set his cane by the door and settled in the bed beside her. "Milliel," he started. He had to stop for the lump in his throat. Theon had been her _hahren_ and kind to her when her mother and her had first arrived in the clan. "Theon isn't going to get better."

"W-what?" Her eyes grew wide. "But-but I didn't think it was that serious." She ran a hand through her curly hair. "Are you sure?"

Dirthamen bowed his head. "He is one hundred and forty-five years old and will be one hundred and forty-six within a month." Dirthamen took a deep breath. Milliel needed him. He couldn't break down in front of her. Theon had meant the world to the clan, teaching almost five generations of elvhen their history. He looked at Milliel. "His body is failing on him," he stated, voice more even. "He will last a few more months, but can't carry on his duties as the clan _hahren_. That is the real reason Deshanna wanted me to go with her today."

"Oh, Onion." Milliel stood up and hugged her husband. "I'm so sorry, I know how much he means to you. How are you holding up?"

"He's not gone yet, _lath_." Dirthamen gave her a soft smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I know how much you were looking forward to him teaching our three." He needed to tell her, but couldn't right then.

"It's just, he's always been here, you know?" she said, sad smile on her face. "Nimwen told me he was around even when her grandparents were young. I guess I just never thought he'd go away, that he'd always be around telling stories or teaching the children. It feels so strange to imagine the clan without him."

"Almost five generations were taught by him," Dirthamen whispered. He could remember Theon as a little boy always asking questions, always curious. It felt like so long ago now. To think that quisitive boy had grown into one of Dirthamen's closest friends. "The current children were the fifth." He took a deep breath. "Theon requested the ceremony naming the next _hahren_ of the clan be held tonight while he can still travel outside of the healer's _aravel_."

"He's already chosen somebody?" Milliel asked. "Do you know who?"

Dirthamen took another deep breath. "Me."

The redhead blinked. "You?"

Dirthamen managed a weak smile. "Yes." He looked at his love, heart heavy.

"I certainly didn't see that coming," she said. "But it's actually not a bad idea. Actually, it's a _great_ idea. You're such a good storyteller and literally know _everything._ Who better to become _hahren_?" She smiled at him. "So, how do you feel about this, do you want to?"

"I can't hunt for the clan," Dirthamen pointed out. "Even if I didn't have a bad leg or weak lungs, my frailty would make it impossible. Besides, I promised Theon I would watch over the clan."

Milliel took his hands in hers. "I think you're perfect for it. And in general as well," she giggled.

Dirthamen smiled. " _Ma serannas, ma lath_." He was glad she didn't mind he would be clan _hahren_. Still, Theon had been one of the few people who had been a constant in his life until now. The thought his oldest friend was dying, hurt as much as when Valendrian had passed. But this time there was a way to ease his friend's pain for brief moments before the passing. Falon'Din.

"What are you thinking about?" Milliel asked. "You have your thinking face on right now."

Dirthamen sighed. "Falon'Din can ease the pain of those who are dying if he plays music for them," Dirthamen explained. He shook his head. "It was a crazy thought."

"You're wondering if he can help." It was less a question than a statement. "Do you think he'd want to help _hahren_ Theon?"

"It wouldn't harm to ask him," Dirthamen stated then shrugged. "But if he did agree it would have to be in the dead of night so no one learns three 'creators' are walking within the clan."

"Yes, I guess you're-wait, three?" Milliel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'three?'"

"Solas is my father and Falon'Din's uncle as you know, twin brother of Elgar'nan," Dirthamen paused. He took a deep breath. "While he's birth name is Solas, we gave him another name while he disrupted day-to-day business near the end of Elvhenan: Fen'Harel."

Milliel's jaw dropped. "He's Fen'Harel. _The_ Fen'Harel?!"

"Yes, but much of legend about him was created to keep the masses from siding with him and Mythal over Elgar'nan. He spent most of his time freeing slaves." Dirthamen sighed. "It's rather complicated, but if you saw him in his full armor or shifted into his wolf form it would be clear he's Fen'Harel." The _aravel_ was starting to slow. Night would be drawing close and soon the ceremony.

Milliel looked down, clearly conflicted. "I…" She seemed lost for words. "Honestly, I shouldn't be so surprised," she chuckled uneasily. "So many insane things have happened lately, this shouldn't be so shocking."

Dirthamen smiled at her. He touched her arm. "My family is complicated and insane." He paused. "Milliel, the day the cult comes, there are going to eight elvhen in purple armor and _vallaslin_ of Dirthamen near you and your mother. Trust them, they will let no harm come to either of you." He kissed her before he stood.

The _aravel_ lurched to a halt. Time for talk was passed. The clan would be setting up camp and preparing for the ceremony.

"Mahvir, when that day comes, everything will turn out okay, won't it?" Milliel asked.

Dirthamen closed his eyes, hand resting on his cane. "It depends on many things, _lath_. One of them being Solas trusting Falon'Din." He shook his head. "One problem at a time. Tonight, we focus on the future of the clan. Tomorrow we can worry about the cult."

"Procrastination, I like it," she joked, kissing his cheek. "Come, can't have the others taking the good seats, can we?"

Dirthamen smiled. "All right." He followed her out of the _aravel_. "Save your mother one, I do believe she will be upset if you don't." He kissed Milliel. "I need to be with Deshanna and Theon. I'll see you there, _lath_."

"All right," she replied.

Dirthamen left her and moved to the healer's _aravel_. Deshanna was just leaving it when he limped up to the entrance. "Is Teren getting Theon ready?" he asked.

"Not that he's too happy about it," Deshanna replied. "He would rather Theon get rest but Theon is being adamant about being at the ceremony. Something about the _hahren_ before him being there when he was appointed."

Dirthamen smiled. "Not every _hahren_ sees his or her next one's ceremony."

"True, but you know Theon." Deshanna flicked her wrist. She turned towards the _aravel_ as the door opened.

Teren appeared first, muttering under his breath. He stopped. "I've enlisted help and hope that old fool is happy if he gets a cold from this."

Dirthamen smiled. "I do believe you will prevent that, Teren."

Teren snorted. "You would."

"All right lads, teamwork."

Dirthamen watched as Bora emerged from the healer's _aravel_ followed by Sinderon carrying Theon.

"Don't drop him, Sindy."

Sinderon gave his uncle an unamused look as he carefully stepped down from the _aravel_. Both he and his uncle had shadows under their eyes and seemed paler than usual.

"Yes, dropping is bad," Theon stated, voice a little weak but still excited. He seemed to have perked up at being outside again. "Set me down, _da'len_ ," he told Sinderon once they had reached the ground.

Teren scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "You're not going to make it more than three steps on your own."

"That's what the two _lenen_ are for." Theon smiled weakly at the healer.

Dirthamen chuckled a little. It was good to see Theon being in such a good mood.

"And we are glad to be of service," Bora said with a bow. He stumbled a bit before catching himself. "Sorry, bowed too fast."

"We're never drinking that stuff again," said Sinderon.

"Oh, come on, Sindy, we had a nice moment back there."

"My head feels like it's been stomped by druffalo."

"That's the price you pay for family, kid."

"That's the price you pay for drinking dwarven ale," Dirthamen stated. "If you drop Theon," he started.

"Ah, you mother me so, Mahvir."

Dirthamen felt his ears grow hot.

"I won't," Sinderon said. He looked down at the elder. " _Hahren_ , are you ready?"

He looked up at Sinderon now that he was on the ground between the two children. "Yes, I am ready."

"Let's get going then," said Bora.

Mahvir limped beside Bora, keeping an eye on Theon. His old friend shivered in approaching night. Teren walked closed as well, holding several thick furs for during the ceremony to keep Theon warm.

Deshanna had gone ahead to gather the clan, though none besides Milliel knew for what. He knew even Bora and Sinderon hadn't been told. Teren would have been which was why he didn't look too pleased at Theon. Everyone within the clan, besides Solas, Lorien, Falon'Din, Arla, and Dirthamen had been taught by Theon.

Theon seemed happy despite his uneven breathing and slow pace. "It's good to be outside again."

"You make it sound like I don't let fresh air into my _aravel_."

"There is a difference, Teren, from a window and being outside."

Teren huffed. "I'm aware, _hahren_." He stopped by the newly erected fire and barked at some of the older children to bring a seat for Theon.

Dirthamen stood back while Teren fused over where the seat was placed then over Sinderon and Bora placing Theon and finally over Theon himself.

"Stop fussing," Theon shooed the healer. "I am quite warm."

"You will tell me if you get a chill," Teren ordered.

"With all these furs, I think I am the warmest person here."

Dirthamen smiled and looked at the gathering clan. There were many who looked rather confused. His gaze moved to where Milliel was seated beside Henala at the front. He smiled.

"You two," the healer had turned on Sinderon and Bora. "Go back to my _aravel_ and fetch more furs!"

"All right, no need to yell," Bora grumbled, rubbing his temple.

"Teren, that is unnecessary," Theon stated. "I will be crushed if I have more furs."

"And they will miss the ceremony if you keep having them running back for more supplies, Teren," Deshanna pointed out. She had moved to join them. "Sinderon, Bora, _ma serannas_ for your aid. Please, find a place among the clan."

"Yes, Keeper," Sinderon nodded.

" _Ma serannas_ , Keeper," Bora added.

Mahvir limped over to stand beside Theon while Deshanna shooed Teren into the clan, telling he could keep watch from there.

With Teren gone, Theon sighed. " _Ma serannas_ ," he whispered and pulled the furs tighter around his shoulders.

"He only wants what's best for you," Dirthamen pointed out. "Though he could hover less."

Theon smiled. "That he could." He tilted his head towards Deshanna.

The keeper stood before the clan. "Tonight I have asked you here for a ceremony I hoped I would never have to give as keeper of this clan." She looked at the people gathered before the bonfire. "All of us were taught by one _hahren_ no matter the generation we're from. It is with a heavy heart, I announce he wishes to step down from the role."

Whispers and murmurs drifted up from the clan, some surprised, others confused.

"Early today he asked someone many of us respect already for his stories and love his toys to replace him as the clan's _hahren_. Mahvir has agreed." Deshanna turned to Theon and Mahvir.

Theon nodded to Mahvir.

Mahvir stepped forward. He did his best to ignore Solas's glare from the back of the gathered clan. " _Ma serannas_ , Keeper Deshanna, and _Hahren_ Theon, for this trust." He took a deep breath and, as was tradition within Lavellan, started to sing "I am the One:"

 _Heruamin lotirien_

 _Alai uethri maeria_

 _Halurocon yalei nam bahna_

 _dolin nereba maome_

 _Ame amin_

 _Halai lothi amin_

 _Aloamin Heruamin_

 _Heruamin oh lonai_

 _lmwe naine beriole_

 _Ame amin_

 _Halai lothi amin_

 _Noamin_

 _Ame amin_

 _Halai lothi amin_

 _Noamin heruamin_

The last note faded into the night. This was the first time Dirthamen had sung before a crowd since Andraste had asked him to sing with her upon learning he had, as she had called it, one of the best voices she had ever heard. It didn't mean he didn't sing often, just normally he was alone. It had helped with his poor breathing, his voice was wispier from what Fear had told him, but still better than any the demon had heard before.

"I am honored," Dirthamen stated and stepped back a little so Deshanna could continue.

The keeper didn't move. She stared at him, her eyes wide. Dirthamen looked at her and titled his towards the clan.

Deshanna snapped out of her shock and turned to the clan. "Clan Lavellan, I present our new _hahren_ , may Dirthamen grant him the wisdom needed to guide our clan in the history of our People. _Andaren atish'an_ , _Hahren_ Mahvir."

" _Hahren_ Mahvir," Theon was the first to call Dirthamen by his new title, though his voice didn't carry far.

" _Hahren_ Mahvir." Healer Teren gave Dirthamen a curt nod.

" _Hahren_ Mahvir," came the collective call of the clan.

Mahvir smiled and nodded to the clan. He glanced towards his father and noticed there was a more thoughtful look in his eyes now than the glare he had earlier. Mahvir turned to Theon. The two of them looked at one another for a moment.

"Go to that girl of yours," Theon told Mahvir, "and to the clan. They look to you now." He gave Mahvir a weak smile.

" _Ma serannas_ , _ma falon_." Mahvir bowed his head to his oldest living friend. Then he turned and limped over to where Milliel sat beside her mother.

"Oh, I can't believe it," Henala said, her hands clasped. "You're the clan's new _hahren_ , what an honor!"

"I'm proud of you, _lath_ ," Milliel smiled.

"As am I!" Henala reach over and pinched his cheek. "I'm so proud of you dear."

"Mum!" Milliel squawked.

"You won't disappoint us, I know it," the older woman grinned fondly.

Mahvir smiled at his mother-through-bonding. "I will do my best, Lady Henala."

"Say, mum, I think I saw Faen's mother looking for you."

"Oh, really? Excuse me for a minute." Henala stood and flittered away.

"She is too much I swear," Milliel chuckled. "How's your cheek?"

Dirthamen chuckled. "Fine, _ma lath_." He held out his hand to her, though he would be little aid in helping her up if he used normal means. Speeding himself up through the time flow did allow from him to appear at normal strength, sometimes. Other times he broke his hand or foot.

"Good," she replied, taking his hand. She pushed herself up from her seat. "You know, they always say that when you're pregnant you get stuck while you sit," she said once standing. "But really it's not that different, it's kinda like after you've had a really big meal, you know? Then again I am kind of early, but I'm hoping it doesn't get too bad."

Mahvir smiled at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He didn't reply to this. "If you wish to head back for some rest, I need to walk among the clan a bit then will join you."

"All right, commune with your people," Milliel smirked, kissing his cheek. "I'll meet you back at the _aravel_. Just in case I'm asleep when you get back, goodnight, Onion."

"Goodnight, _sulahn'nehn_."

* * *

 **Flame:** Theon is so old because of his close friendship with Dirthamen. Dirthamen slowed the aging of Theon's body without meaning to.

Long chapter is long.


	24. Chapter 24

"Admit it, _lethallin,_ you do miss me."

Faen huffed. "It's not like I don't see you everyday, Milliel."

"I don't know how you lot manage to get game without me."

"We do just fine!" Faen insisted. "You act like you're the best hunter in the clan."

Milliel chuckled, ruffling the other hunter's hair. "Admit it, you miss me on hunts, Faen."

Faen swatted her hand away. "If you do that to your kids, they'll never forgive you."

"'Mother, why?! Why did you fluff my hair, oh, the horror!'"

Faen rolled his eyes. "I have to go."

" _Dareth shiral_."

"Yeah, yeah," the hunter grumbled. As he walked away, Milliel thought she saw the hint of a smile.

She shook her head as she walked back to her _aravel_ , thinking of all the ways she could mess with Faen once she was able to hunt again. Her smile dipped when she laid eyes on a familiar elf.

Solas was sitting in the shade of a tree, with what looked like a book in his lap. He seemed to be concentrating, which made Milliel's decision harder to make. Should she approach him? Shouldn't she? Milliel's thoughts about her father-through-bonding were... complicated to say the least. _'Come on, you need to do this,'_ she told herself. Sighing, she slowly approached the older elf.

"Why are you writing in that book?"

Solas looked up and cocked an eyebrow. It made his features look all the more stern. He took a deep breath. "I am drawing, _da'len_ , it's a sketchbook." He returned his attention to the page, hand moving in smooth, rhythmic motions down the page.

"Oh." Milliel scratched her head. "Um… could I see what you're working on?"

For a moment, Solas's only response was to stop drawing and take a deep breath. Then he look at her. "Very well." He closed the book and held it out to her.

Milliel's eyes widened. She half expected him to refuse. " _Ma serannas,_ " she said as she took the book. She sat down and started flipping through the pages. She was amazed at his talent. Many of the drawings bore an abstract, stylized designs, but others were very realistic. There were many pictures of Lori, the girl's face adorable even in picture form. Many big smiles and happy looking faces Milliel hadn't seen on the toddler since Nimwen was taken. There were also many that looked like they were drawn as the child slept, her face calm and content. Milliel found many drawings of Nimwen as well. The attention to detail was extraordinary, it was like her friend was staring right at her through the pages.

"You have quite the skill," she told him. "These are beautiful."

Solas gave her the slightest of nods. " _Ma serannas_ , but my realism pales in comparison to Mahvir's. Not that he will ever admit it."

' _So, he is capable of compliments,'_ she thought to herself. "Perhaps he could give you some advice?" She suggested. "Artists give each other tips all the time, right?"

Both of Solas's eyebrows rose. "I did just say 'not that he will ever admit it,' _da'len_." The piece of charcoal twirled in his long fingers.

Milliel looked down at her lap, suddenly feeling foolish. "I, guess you did say that," she said as she handed him the sketch book. Milliel felt the awkward silence rolling in like an uncomfortable fog. Before she knew it, she found herself saying, "Do you dislike me?"

Solas frowned, seeming taken aback by this question. He placed the sketchbook on his lap. "I apologize if my demeanor has been rather," he paused, "cold. The last few months haven't been the easiest and I have found I am not one for easy chat when among Dalish," he confessed.

"I understand things have been rough," Milliel shrugged. "I just noticed you never really stop by, or talk. You know, ask how my day was, would you like to have dinner, how your _grandchildren_ are doing." Milliel tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but at the same time she felt like passive aggressiveness wasn't out of her wheelhouse.

Solas regarded her with an even look. Then, he spoke, "It is odd thinking of Dirth as a father, let alone seeing myself as grandfather."

"Well, I have news for you. He's going to be a father, and you're going to be a grandfather." The pretense of nicety was quickly falling away. "Look, Solas, I know you've been upset since Nimwen was taken, and I'm not going to pretend like that hasn't been a contributing factor to your attitude as of late. However, you have hardly spoken to Mahvir at all outside of battle plans and whatever else has been going on, and you act as if I don't even exist, that they," she pointed to her stomach, "don't exist. When are you going to stop ignoring your family, because in case you forgot, we're your family now too."

Solas's brow furled. "'They'? You're expecting twins?"

Milliel's eyes widened. She didn't realize she'd let it slip. _'Okay, this is bad. Gotta be smooth now, Milly.'_

"It's three," she squeaked out. _'You had one job! One job!'_ Milliel felt her face burn as she stared wide eyed at Solas.

Solas cocked an eyebrow at this. "At least that explains why you look too far along for fifteen weeks." He started to wrap up the charcoal. "It isn't personal, _da'len_ ," he started. "Family is something I have struggled with since my brother first tried to take off my head and his children, my nieces and nephews, followed him. I've been estranged from family for centuries."

"So, what? Because of them you've written us off before we've even done anything?" Now she was getting mad. "You can't just keep using the past as an excuse for the present. This whole clan has been nothing but accommodating for you. We're risking everything to get Nimwen back because she is one of us, and you and Lori are now one of us as well. And yet you've done nothing to get to know your own daughter-through-bonding or even bother to ask about your grandchildren. Do you honestly feel nothing for us? I don't expect us to be the best of friends, I'd like that, but I'm being realistic. But these three, they are your flesh and blood. Do you really not give a damn?"

Solas regarded with an even look. "That is far from what I meant." He folded his hands together before him.

"So, what do you mean, Solas?" Milliel demanded.

"I have grown accustomed to watching my family from a distance. It's not that I don't care, more that I have been watching you and Dirth from afar." He stood and paused. "If you so wish, I will bring Lori by and spend time with you more often." He brushed the dirt from his tattered robes then held out his hand to her.

Milliel looked at his hand, then his face. "You mean it?"

"I do."

Milliel smiled. " _Ma seran-_ "

"Yoo-hoo, Milly?"

"Creators," Milliel grumbled as her mother approached.

"Oh, there you are dear, and, oh, Solas, what perfect timing!"

Solas lowered his hand and straightened. "Good morning, _lethallan_." Solas bowed his head to Henala.

"Is there something you needed, mum?" Asked Milliel.

"Why yes there is," Henala replied chipperly. "It just occured to me that we've never really had a get-together as a family."

"What do you mean? Mahvir and I spend time with you all the time."

"Well, yes, dear, but I'm talking about everyone," Henala clarified. She turned to Solas. " _Lethallin,_ I'm planning a small brunch, and I'd be delighted if you could come, along with Lori, Sinderon, and his uncle."

"Why?"

Henala blinked, as if surprised. "Why, because you're part of the family of course!"

Solas cocked an eyebrow and looked at Milliel. "I had assumed you hadn't informed your mother."

"Informed me of what?" Asked Henala, her head cocked in confusion.

"That remains to be seen, madam."

"What brought this on, mum?" Milliel asked.

"Well, as I said, it just occured to me how we all haven't really spent any time together." Henala sighed. "For so long it had just been you and I, Milly, and then we joined the clan, but it was still really just the two of us. Now, I have a wonderful son-through-bonding, a grandchild on the way, and a new extended family! Yet, we've all done nothing about it." She put her hands on her hips, looking determined. "Well, that just won't do. We're all going to have some quality family time, and what better way than over food, hmm?" The older woman turned to Solas. "So, what do you say, Solas? Would you be a dear and bring everyone over for brunch?"

Solas regarded Henala, but didn't speak.

"Hold on, mum," Milliel cut in, when it suddenly hit her. "How did you know Solas was Mahvir's father."

Henala laughed, a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Milly. Nothing in this clan stays a secret from me for long. Not to mention Lori told me all about how much she adored her older brother, it didn't take long to put two and two together."

"Oh." Milliel supposed it wouldn't be too hard to figure it out, especially if Lori stated that Mahvir was her brother. As for nothing staying secret from her, Milliel wondered how her mother would react when she finally figured out she was getting three grandchildren.

"Very well, I will ask Bora and Sinderon if they would like to join us," Solas stated. "Where and when?"

"Tomorrow, around noon," Henala said. "And don't think about coming without Lori. That girl is such a sweetheart, and she never did finish telling me about her worm collection."

"Really, mum?" Milliel snorted.

"Oh, you should have heard her, Milly, it was adorable!"

Solas gave Henala a soft smile. "Tomorrow then." He bowed his head to them and strode off.

*~ x ~*

" _It's beautiful, Dirth_." Falon'Din traced the etching of an owl on the violin. Its wings spread up until they melded under the fingerboard. The _f_ holes appeared almost invisible as long feathers within the wings. On the fingerboard proper was painted the same markings as those who followed Falon'Din wore. The violin itself was gorgeous. Crafted with so much love, Falon'Din couldn't believe his brother had made it. Let alone that his brother had made it _for_ him. " _Crafted with a hand that could rival June's, brother_." Falon'Din smiled at Dirth who sat on one of the beds within the _aravel_.

" _Try it_." Dirthamen held out the bow to Falon'Din.

Sheer joy raced through Falon'Din. His hand shook as he took the bow. The hair of the bow was woven from that of a horse, strong enough he could play. He tested the strings to find they had been tuned by his brother earlier.

To really play music again. Falon'Din smiled as he lifted the violin to his shoulder. He hadn't heard a sweet sound of flute or any instrument since he had tried to kill his brother. His hand shook on the fingerboard. Excitement raced through his heart.

The moment the bow greeted string, his hand stopped shaking. His fingers light against each string as he started to play a slow tune. The music flowed around Falon'Din, his body swayed with the movement of the bow over the strings. He closed his eyes, turning the tune happy and light. His magic tingled through him, lighter than when he tried to call it on normal occasions.

Dirthamen's voice melded with the sound. The sound of his brother's beautiful voice made the music sing through Falon'Din. The song his brother sang and he played to was one they had crafted together back during the war with the Forgotten. It was a light, happy song. The lyrics and tune celebrating all the joy in waking alive to another day. The feelings of freedom to come for them and their People. While he had originally played this song on a flute, it translated well onto a violin.

His heart almost broke as his fingers trailed the last note. A tear slid from Falon'Din's eye. He looked at his brother. " _My thanks, brother_ ," Falon'Din choked on the words as his emotions at having played music again still sung through his body. Falon'Din settled himself beside his brother. " _I don't know if they kept the bag I had with me, but if the People did, your daggers were in it_."

" _I saw_ ," Dirthamen stated. " _And still can't believe you kept them_."

" _Did the People use them for anything_?" Falon'Din asked. Fear shot through him. Weapons crafted for the nine of them falling into mortal hands could be very bad for those mortals and perhaps those around them.

Dirthamen held up his hand. " _It's fine, brother. I got to the daggers before the clan could_."

Falon'Din smiled. " _My thanks_." He gave Dirth a brief hug before he stood. The violin was under his chin in the same heartbeat.

A fast, beautiful song filled the air. His fingers danced over the strings, light and fast. There were no sour notes like when Falon'Din had heard others play this song on a violin during celebrations held for him and his brother. He had never missed a beat, not when it came to instruments. Not even when he had first crafted a little pipe from wrids.

He smiled. His heart lighter when he saw his brother's own, soft smile.

Falon'Din didn't break off the song even when the door into the _aravel_ opened and a woman he had never seen stepped in. He closed his eyes, ignoring her. The music flowed stronger through him, entwining with his magic. The last note hung in the air as he lowered the bow. He opened his eyes a slit, chin still resting against the violin.

" _Ma serannas_ , brother," Falon'Din remembered to drop all but the little elvish the People remembered. "The sound is pure."

"I'm glad." Dirthamen used his cane to pull himself to his feet. "Is it time, Lady Henala?" he asked in a polite voice as he addressed the woman.

"Quite right," the woman, Henala, replied giddily. "This will be fun, I know it." She turned to Falon'Din. "You're coming, yes?"

Falon'Din frowned a little. "As long as you don't mind my uncle trying to behead me for a few minutes, I would love to get out of this," he paused, " _aravel_." Falon'Din placed the violin gently into the case and closed it. "Brother." He held the case out to Dirthamen. He had promised to pass the violin off to his brother when his brother left. It had been the only way the Dalish would let Falon'Din have an instrument, the bow could, in theory, be used as a weapon. The idea was appalling.

"Oh, we'll have none of that, not if I have anything to say about it," Henala replied. "Now, let's get going, you two, we're burning daylight!"

"Really?" Falon'Din laughed. "My daylight burns fast for you then." He followed Henala out of the _aravel_. Once out, he took the violin case from Dirth so his brother could half fall out of the _aravel_. He passed the case back to Dirth once his brother was safely on the ground.

"You two will love it, I have it all laid out. Milliel helped too, I feel I should mention, she's always been a perfect little helper," Henala giggled. "Oh, I remember how she used to always beg to lick the spoon when I baked, she was like a puppy."

" _This is your mate she's talking about, right, Dirth_?" Falon'Din whispered in his brother's ear.

" _Humor her, brother_ ," Dirth whispered back. Dirth limped after Henala, keeping a good pace considering how bad his leg had to be. The warming weather seemed to help his brother greatly.

They followed the woman until they were on the outskirts of camp, still close enough to see the camp, but far enough to gain seclusion. Set up beneath an oak tree was a small table filled with an assortment of food, with occupants already kneeling around it.

"We're here!" Henala announced chipperly.

Falon'Din stopped in his tracks at the sight of the smallest occupant at the table. She was seated on his uncle's lap, familiar yellow hair his uncle had in his youth and father still had, tumbling down her back. Lorien. His cousin.

Falon'Din stood frozen. His eyes locked on the little girl. Then he fell to his knees and finally to the ground, pressing his forehead to his hands in a motion he had once done only for his father.

"Huh? Mahvir, dear, what is he doing?" Henala asked.

"Apologizing to Lorien," Dirthamen stated. He had moved to the tree and set down the violin where it would be out of the way.

"Daddy?" He heard Lorien ask. "Who he?"

"Get him out of here," Solas seemed to be biting back the urge to growl.

" _Ir abelas, da'len_ ," Falon'Din managed to say. He didn't straighten, knowing in doing so Solas would hide his daughter from Falon'Din. Pain stabbed at his heart. It would be a long road to earning his uncle's forgiveness let alone his trust.

Small footsteps approached until they stopped in front of Falon'Din. "Who you?"

She didn't recognize him?

"Lorien." Solas leapt to his feet and moved to pick her up.

"He's not going to harm her, Solas." The sound of Dirth stopping Solas came to Falon'Din.

"Why your head down?"

Falon'Din felt a tiny finger poke his head.

"Up."

Falon'Din took a deep, shuddering breath. He straightened, careful of the little one before him. Ever so slowly he looked her in the face. It was the first time he had really seen her. She had a mix of Solas's and Nimwen's features.

The child's eyes suddenly widened. "You!" She yelped, taking a step back. "Y-you have mask like them, bad men!"

Falon'Din flinched. "I do," he confessed. "But it's," he took a deep breath, "it's to hide something which is far scarier to one as young as you, _len_."

"Mahvir," Solas hissed.

"Let them talk," Dirthamen whispered.

"Are you insane?" Bora snapped.

"What so bad?" Hesitantly, but with a look of curiosity, Lorien approached him again. "It can't be scary. It just face, right?"

Falon'Din bowed his head. "If I show you, promise me you won't scream. All right, _len_?"

The child nodded.

The tie slid through his fingers and from his hair. He looked at the girl, revealing his features not only to her but the other young.

"Creators!" Henala gasped.

"Shit," Bora whispered.

Lorien stared at him, her eyes owlish. Then, she sat down, legs crossed, still staring at him. "You nose gone." She didn't sound scared, or even disgusted. She spoke as if she'd made a stunning discovery.

Without his mask, Falon'Din knew the smile he gave the girl was awkward if not frightening. "Ah, it is. And it's one of the reasons I wear masks."

Solas walked over to them.

Falon'Din stiffened. He braced himself to whatever was to come.

Instead of an attack, the only sound which came was Solas kneeling before him, beside Lori. " _Was this my doing, Falon_?" The question was soft and Falon'Din felt his uncle's hand on his face.

" _No, in many ways, my own_ ," Falon'Din whispered back.

"Where nose go?" Lorien asked. "You still smell? How do you know if you stinky?"

A soft, choked laugh came from Falon'Din. "I can still smell and taste fine, _len_."

"The receptors for smell are in the brain itself," Dirthamen explained.

"That just makes it creepy, brother!" Falon'Din shot at Dirthamen.

"Knowledge should be shared."

Falon'Din shook his head. Not that kind of knowledge.

"It hurt?" Lorien held onto his shoulders as she peered closer, rather unfazed than a three year-old should be. "It look like it hurt."

"Sometimes." Falon'Din looked at Solas. For a long moment he and Solas just looked at one another.

Then Solas bowed his head. " _If you truly mean to try to be the gentle boy who played music for the dying again_." Solas placed his hand on Falon'Din's head like he had one when Falon'Din had been little. It was a gesture his father had never made, only his uncle. It was as if Solas was telling Falon'Din he had the trust to try and redeem himself.

" _I do_." Falon'Din bowed his head.

The rest went unspoken as Solas stood. "Come, Lori, the food will get cold."

" _Ma serannas_ , Solas." Dirthamen nodded to Solas. He moved around the table to join Milliel.

"R-right," Henala shook her head and regained her upbeat smile. "Have a seat, everyone."

"I sit next daddy!" Lorien declared as she toddled over to Solas.

Falon'Din replaced his mask. He moved around the table aware of the feeling of eyes on him. He sat down between Dirthamen and Solas. It was rather odd to be surrounded at table for a meal by so many. The feeling, despite the mistrust in two pairs of eyes, was just like during the war with the Forgotten.

"All righty, soup's right here," Henala said, pointing to the large pot in the center. "I made it with ram, and threw in some mushrooms, thought I'd be a bit wild."

"That's wild all right," Milliel replied sarcastically.

"Shooms!" Lorien clapped.

"I also whipped up some salad and some hearthcakes," Henala added.

Falon'Din frowned. He had never heard of a "hearth" cake before. He assumed by Dirth's slightest expression of disgust and Solas's sudden happy look they were sweet.

" _Ma serannas_ for the lovely meal, Lady Henala," Dirthamen thanked her.

Falon'Din had to fight to control a snicker. Dirthamen hated _all_ food. It was only red wine he enjoyed.

"You're welcome, dear," Henala grinned. "Everyone dig in."

"I call the hearthcake on top," said Bora, snatching it from the pile.

"Soup, soup," Lori chanted, bouncing in excitement.

"Calm down, Lori." Solas placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You can have some soup, but please stop bouncing."

"And remember I forget how to use spoons," Dirthamen added. "I will need a lovely princess to remind how to eat." Dirth bowed to Lori.

Falon'Din choked on his stifled laughter.

"Silly Mahvy, it easy," Lori giggled.

"Why don't you remind him, since you're such a good teacher," Milliel said, smirking.

"Of course, I could always spoon feed you," Falon'Din teased.

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow at Falon'Din. "You're getting too much enjoyment out of this."

"Tame family brunch," Falon'Din stated. He had waited until the others had served up and a nod from Solas before he took some of the food. It was a habit left over from when they had been children. Elgar'nan would have flayed his hide if he had tried snagging the food like Bora had.

"See, Mahvy, you do this." Lori dunked her spoon into her bowl and then loudly slurped the soup. "See?"

"Quiet sips, Lori," Solas instructed Lori. He soothed her hair.

Falon'Din didn't touch the food. His ears heated a little as he recalled he had to eat funny to keep the food from spilling from mouth. He would rather not embarrass himself before two mort-younglings who knew his identity as Falon'Din.

" _Ma serannas_ , Princess Lorien." Dirth bowed his head to Lori before he started to eat.

"What your name?" Lorien asked Falon'Din.

Falon'Din hesitated. "Athim," he replied after a moment. He would rather go by his actual name, but he supposed since two at this table hadn't reacted well to the knowledge it was for the best not to go by it for now. "It's a pleasure to meet you, _len_."

"Hi, Athy, I'm Lori," the girl smiled.

Athy? Falon'Din took a deep breath. "I know, _da'sa_."

"You eat too," she said, waving her spoon at him. " _Mamae_ make me and Mahvy eat so you gotta eat too."

His heart panged at the thought of Nimwen and the fact she wasn't here being his fault. He turned to the food. Hopefully Inan was able to get her food.

"Try to ignore how you appear to others, for once, brother," Dirth told Falon'Din.

Falon'Din took a deep breath and lifted his mask a little so he could eat. He tilted his head to one side and took a bite of the soup. It was awkward eating this way but it kept the food from spilling from his mouth.

"It yummy, huh?" Lori asked, tearing bits from her hearthcake.

Falon'Din swallowed and straightened his head. "Yeah." He missed the old foods of Elvhenan. Even the simple foods like this had been made in the style of their People. This felt like a meal a human had made.

"So," Henala spoke up, clearing her throat. "I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying their meals."

"It good," Lori said, face full of hearthcake.

"Thank you, sweetie," the woman said. "But the reason I asked you all to come is, because I feel like we needed some time together as a family. Not to mention it's become apparent that there are some things that may need airing out."

"Really, mum, you're _just_ now realizing?"

"Hush, Milly. Sass is like plaidweave," Henala retorted. "Anyhow, I feel like this should be a time where everyone can speak their minds, open up. And we can all listen and talk things over like calm, loving people."

"Uh-huh. Well-" Bora stopped whatever he was about to say by the glare his nephew gave him.

"I take it the recipes were also lost?" Falon'Din asked as he stirred the soup. Sharp pain shot through his ear as he wrenched towards Solas. "Aw-aw-aw, Uncle, that hurts!"

"Hey, knock it off," Milliel scowled, trying to bat Solas's hand away from Falon'Din.

Solas released Falon'Din's ear. Falon'Din rubbed his ear. "No, I did just insult the food. _Ir abelas_ , Lady Henala. I meant no offense." Falon'Din bowed his head to the mortal woman.

"It's all right, dear," Henala replied. "And like I said, we're here to be honest with one another. You see this?" Her hands gestured to the table in circular motions. "This is the truth table. We're going to talk truth, and be honest with each other."

"I'll be truthful, I'd really like it if somebody passed the hearthcakes," Bora smirked.

Henala pouted. "I'm being serious," she said as she passed the man the plate. "Now, nobody is leaving until we settle some things. So, who wants to go first? Is there anything somebody wants to say to someone at this table? And there will be no yelling, no name calling. We're being civil."

"Does anyone know how to make _din'an dareth_?" Falon'Din asked. He was being honest and he did miss that food. It was spicy and so hot it had even made his father's eyes water. Granted, Elgar'nan didn't like spicy foods just really warm foods. Still, the food had sent some of Falon'Din's guest to dunk their heads into a bowl of water. He simply loved the taste.

"Honestly." Solas sighed and shook his head.

"I know there is food you miss as well, Uncle," Falon'Din said with huff as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Not _that_ one."

"It's not that bad," Falon'Din defended his favorite food. "Brother, back me up!"

"Me? Really?" Dirth asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"What _din'an dareth_?" Bora asked. "Sounds ominous for food."

"It's delicious," Falon'Din grinned. "You take whatever meat you have on hand and mix into a bowl of this extremely spicy hot sauce."

"Considering the last person you feed it to ran into a lake to cool their tongue, I would advise avoiding bringing it back," Solas stated.

"You heard about that?" Falon'Din chuckled. "I didn't think he would be _that_ desperate for water. And it's still the best food in the world."

"Sounds good," Bora smirked. "Back at Weishaupt, one of the other Wardens brought back these weird peppers from Rivain, little blighters felt like they melted your mouth. We all took turns seeing how many we could eat before we quit-"

"And you ate the most," Sinderon finished.

"No, some ass named Bogart, but that's only because I was drunk and passed out before I could finish. Would have beaten him though!"

A thrill of excitement shot through Falon'Din. "Those are one of the peppers used in the sauce! They did add a kick."

Dirthamen groaned. "Yes, kick certainly is the word for it, brother."

"You hate all food unless its almost ash. Your comment doesn't apply." Falon'Din shot a grin at his brother.

"I don't like 'ash,' it just tasted different from normal food."

"That's why that was all I could get you to eat when we were kids."

"That was you burning the food?" Solas asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Only to get him to eat!" Falon'Din defended himself as he gestured at his brother.

"Hey, I'm pretty sure I remember where to get those peppers. We should make that _din'an_ stuff and see who can last longer,"

"Really, uncle?" Sinderon sighed.

"I like peppers!" Lori cut in.

"You're not to try this one, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas told her.

"You know where ghost peppers are!" Falon'Din grinned.

"He will beat all of you," Dirthamen stated in bland tones. He didn't look up from the food. He had been slowly eating it while they were talking.

"Considering the food was named after him," Solas muttered.

"Oh, no, I'm not so easily beaten," Bora replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You and me, pal. We're settling this."

"I'd love to learn a new recipe, would you mind giving it to me?" Henala asked, enthusiastically.

"I eat peppers too!"

"I can teach you how to make Deceiver's Cake," Falon'Din told her.

Solas stiffened, his eyes wide with sheer longing. "You know the recipe for that?" He breathed the question.

"Well, yeah, I know most of the recipes. I just tend to turn them to ash when I try to make any of it." Falon'Din laughed. "Okay, so brother knew most of them."

Dirthamen gagged on his soup. "Honestly, _that_ cake?" Dirthamen asked. He visibly shuddered. "And, trust me, Princess, you don't want a ghost pepper. A nibble has even some of the strongest of the People in tears."

"What's this cake?" Milliel asked.

"Cake!" Lorien squealed, clapping her hands.

"If you have a sweet tooth, it will be your favorite food. If you're like my brother, you have to be tied down to get a piece of it into his mouth." Falon'Din.

"Another topic, please?" Dirthamen asked.

"I don't know, _lath_. We've somehow managed not to have a brawl, maybe we should stick to food," Milliel teased.

"Daddy, we have cake?" Lori asked.

"If we had the right chocolate, but it's expensive and only solid in Orlais."

"Didn't we just enter that new nation?" Falon'Din asked.

"I haven't had chocolate in years," Henala sighed, longingly.

"We passed over the Orleasian border a week ago," Sinderon said.

"Ugh, I need to find a map with these borders defined on it, perhaps then it will make more sense. Different nations ruled in different manners. Seems rather," Falon'Din paused, trying to find the right word, "Chaotic?"

"You don't know the half of it," said Bora.

"I don't think I want to." Falon'Din sighed and shook his head. "It would probably just be as depressing as the fact the People can't remember how to cook Deceiver's Cake or _din'an dareth_."

"How come they don't know?" Lori asked, her head tilted in confusion.

Falon'Din tilted his head to one side. "That is a good question." He looked at his brother. "Brother?"

"No." Dirthamen had finished his bowl and pushed it back.

"But I wanna know," Lori pouted. "Daddy, why they not know no more?"

"I am with my cousin on this one. Come now, Uncle, if brother has decided to be keep the secret, you spill it."

Solas sighed. "Because our People were enslaved after the fall of Elvhenan."

Falon'Din stared at Solas. His ears rang with this knowledge. If this was true, then it would have been like the last time with the Forgotten. They would have lost _everything_.

Lori's brow furrowed. "What's a-slaved mean?"

"I don't think this is really table talk," Milliel said uneasily.

"What a-slaved mean?" Lori pressed.

"Something I hope you never know, Princess," Dirthamen replied. "Brother, if you're not going to eat, play something."

"Play? Happily!" Falon'Din grinned. He leapt to his feet and walked to where the violin rested.

"You make music?" Lori asked.

"You any good?" Asked Bora.

"I take insult to you questioning my talent with instruments," Falon'Din huffed. He picked up the violin and placed the bow to string.

He started a strong, definite song. The ones played for battle. It was how he felt right then for the People to take back what was their and regain the ground they lost. The music pulled on his magic until he could feel it reaching out around him. His music enhanced his magic until emotions of the music would leak out to those listening. It was stirring song, not one which would start a fight, only harten and lift up those around him. It has inspired the People when all other hope was lost.

"Creators, now _that's_ a song!" Bora hooted. He grabbed his bottle of ale and raised it. "Look at this guy, bringin' it. You're getting a toast."

"I second it!" Milliel grinned, reaching over to clash her drink with his.

"That was wonderful!" Henala cheered, clapping. "It was so stunning. Goodness I haven't felt this lively in ages."

Solas sighed. "It did change the subject at least," he muttered.

Dirth chuckled.

Falon'Din gave a small bow. "My thanks."

"That pretty!" Lori clapped. She'd gotten up from the table and was spinning around gleefully. "More, more, I wanna dance!"

Falon'Din laughed. "All right, if it's a dance you want, dance you will get." He lifted the bow. The song was lively and fast. The tune struck a cord to dance the night away.

The girl danced around the table, albeit it was more improvised twirls and jumps than actual dancing. Despite that she seemed to be having a ball, if the grin and laughter coming from her were any indicators.

Falon'Din grinned and picked up the beat.

"Dance me, daddy!" Lori commanded, tugging on Solas's shirt.

Solas shook his head then sighed. "All right." He stood and picked Lori up so that she was on his feet to dance.

"Come on, boy," Bora cackled as he dragged Sinderon to his feet.

The taller elf didn't complain for once and locked elbows with his uncle as the two spun to the music.

Milliel and Henala stood as well, grinning as they clapped along to the beat of the song.

The song drew to a close. The magic it had called on linger in the air, leaving a feeling of joy for those who had heard him play. Falon'Din lowered the violin. He was amazed Solas had danced, granted it had been for his daughter. He had never been affected by the music.

"You play good," Lori smiled. She skipped over and hugged Falon'Din around his legs. " _Ma serannas,_ Athy. That fun!"

"You're most welcome, Lori." Falon'Din bowed to the girl. He was happy to see the music had made them happy. In the same moment, it was depressing. He wished his music inspired such emotions naturally instead of it coming through magic. He knew he was good, but only a few ever heard the music and didn't feel the emotions he was trying to inspire at the time. They were all blood related to him. He was amazed the music had affected Lori at all.

"How you play so good?" The girl asked.

"I don't know. First time I picked up a little flute I whittled from wreeds, I could play. Guess it's a talent like Dirth knowing everything."

"I wanna play good! Teach me, Athy?" The girl looked up at him with halla eyes and a pout.

Was that supposed to be cute? Falon'Din cocked his head. He then cleared his throat. "If your uncle, father, and great uncle are okay with it, I can try to teach you."

"Can he, can he? Pretty _please,_ daddy?"

Dirthamen looked at Falon'Din, his expression amused. Falon'Din frowned. What was amusing?

"If you are with me or Sinderon during the lessons." Solas looked at Falon'Din. "Teach her with patients."

"Given the rush to get to this brunch. I doubt that is lacking in comparison at this point, Uncle."

"Yay! _Ma serannas_ , daddy!" Lori kissed Falon'Din on the cheek. " _Ma serannas,_ Athy. I be good music maker!"

"We'll see if you got it from Solas's side or are as tone deaf as my father." Falon'Din didn't laugh, though he had tried to make it joke. He still had the burns on his arm and neck from when Elgar'nan had tried to get him to stop "making noise."

"Would you like help cleaning this up, Lady Henala?" Dirthamen asked as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Why yes, aren't you a peach," Henala smiled.

Falon'Din hesitated before he replaced the violin in the case and moved to aid his new family. It felt odd to think of mortals as his family. In the same moment, they were more welcoming and friendly than many who were blood related to him.

* * *

Elivish:  
 _din'an dareth_ \- End of being Safe (roughly) or end of safety or death of safety  
 _din'an_ \- End or death  
 _Dareth_ \- be safe

* * *

 **Flame:** Ah, some heartwarming family time.


	25. Chapter 25

**This if the first part of a duel update.**

* * *

"This can't be right," Inan muttered to himself. He had stopped the wagon just off the road. He moved the map around and his frown only depended. He sighed and lowered the map which had gotten damp from a fine rain falling around him. "Hey, Butter!" Inan called into the wagon. "Can you see where we are in relation to the Fade?"

Butter's only response was purr of amusement.

"What's going on?" Nimwen asked. Judging by the grogginess in her voice, she'd just woken up.

"Nothing, nothing, go back to sleep," Inan chuckled.

"Inan's gotten us lost," Butter purred.

Heat raced through Inan's ears. "I'm just a little turned around. Not lost. Big difference, Butter."

"Just how turned around, exactly?" She sounded fully awake now, and suspicious.

Inan coughed. "About a few weeks' worth of travel turned around," he confessed. "My apologies, Lady Nimwen. This isn't the world I am most familiar with. I only knew it until now through dreams of others."

"I-" Inan heard her sigh. "What's done is done, let's just try and get back on the proper path." She sounded tired, but not from being awoken. She was weary, drained, one could hear it in her voice.

"Try to get more rest," Inan told her. "I will get us back on track." He reached for the reins, but paused at a soft sound behind the wagon. "Butter?" Inan asked in a low voice.

"I will check it out," the spirit replied.

"What's she checking out?"

The window flaps fluttered behind Inan and Nimwen's face emerged.

"There was a sound behind us. Nothing to worry about." Inan gave her a smile. Another sound came to him moments before Butter leapt up onto the seat. "What is it?"

"The Harbingers," Butter hissed.

"They found us?" Nimwen's eyes widened. "How?"

"Get back into the wagon," Inan instructed Nimwen. "Butter, go with her. Get a barrier up around the wagon." Inan didn't wait to see if Butter obayed. He leapt from the driver's seat and raced around the wagon.

The air heated. Fire raced from the little cover lining the road. Steam rose where the flame hit the water.

A golden barrier exploded into life around Inan. The flames flew out around the barrier and wagon.

Battle cries sounded. Armor flashed in the light of fire as five cultist raced up from the trench to surround the wagon.

"Away from there!" Inan whirled. Raw magic shot from him and blasted between cultist and the wagon. The energy was green with a golden tent coming from its center.

Fire raced towards Inan from behind.

Inan was forced to turn his attention from the cultists.

"Eyes forward!"

Flames raced towards Inan once more. Their color blue.

Inan forced all of his mana into the barrier. He had to keep the flames away from Nimwen, but he was pinned here.

"No." He gritted his teeth. The chains scorched the ground as he turned, one hand kept the barrier alive. With his free hand, he shot more magic towards the cultists.

The windows to the wagon flew open, and bolts of ice shot out. One cultist crumpled like a ragdoll, ice protruding from his head. Another was struck in the leg. Inan saw Nimwen duck down just in time to evade an arrow.

A scream of rage sounded behind Inan. The flames intensified. Heat bared down on Inan as the ground was scorched. Inan thrust his power back into into the barrier.

"Not again!" Nan's shriek came over the sound of flames which roared in Inan's ears.

The fire vanished. A pressure filled the air. A small, compact ball, no bigger than a pebble flew towards Inan's barrier. It was visible by the rocks it drew towards it.

"Really," Inan muttered. Plasma.

He poured the last of his mana into the barrier. The ground popped and shook under Inan. The barrier was torn to shreds. Inan flew back. Pain lanced through his back as he struck the wagon with enough force it made the horse leap forward with a shocked whinny.

Inan coughed. Blood trickled from his mouth. Pain lanced through him a shock wave. It moved into his chest before going to dull throb. He stood.

"Stand back."

Shimmering blue appeared as a new barrier formed in front of the wagon.

"Inan, _ma isala halani_?" Nimwen asked, peering down at him from the window.

"No." He could feel the magic around the chains had weakened from Nan's last attack. One more attack from his son would destroy the part of the damper placed on Inan which hadn't been crafted by him or his love.

Inan moved out from behind Nimwen's barrier. "Nan!"

Elgar'nan moved forward. "The next blow will be the last for you." He flames erupted around Elgar'nan.

Inan made certain his back wasn't to the wagon.

Fire raced towards him. Inan leapt into the air, flipping so his feet were pointed towards the flames.

Agony shot through his legs as he was blasted back once more. He stopped the flames just below his knees, condensing them.

Inan skidded across the ground. He gasped as his legs healed. He felt a sudden influx of mana. The dusk air was lit by a soft, golden light.

"No, now this ends." Inan stood. The anklets released at his slightest thought. Power surged through him. A heartbeat later he was before the wagon. Light came from him as bright as the sun.

The closest cultist gasped as Inan started to steal the life from his body.

"Forgive me, child," he whispered. "But you will not take her."

The remaining cultists started to gasp as well. They collapsed to the ground. Tears burned Inan's eyes. They were dead.

He turned his gaze towards Nan.

His son had vanished.

Inan collapsed to his knees, weeping. Where his tears hit the ground, fresh growth appeared. He'd just killed - Inan shook. He'd killed!

*~ X ~*

Nimwen gasped, slumping to the floor of the wagon. It'd taken all her effort to keep the barrier up. The duration of that barrier had been nothing, not too long ago she'd been able to cast ones for twice as long with nary a thought. She was starting to realize just how much a strain her pregnancy was putting on her magic. She wiped the sweat from her brow, trying to still her breathing. It was silent outside.

"I-Inan?" Nimwen called out, breath still ragged.

Butter's fur was fluffed beside Nimwen. "No," the spirit whispered, blue eyes round.

A golden light came from outside as bright as the sun in the rain filled evening.

Nimwen grabbed the wall and pulled herself to her feet. "Inan?" She called again, worry seeping into her voice. She staggered to the back of the wagon, slowly regaining strength in her legs, and pushed the door open.

The golden light came from a figure who sat not too far from the wagon. It was Inan, or as he had appeared in the Fade. In his lap he held one of the cultists. "My sorrow is eternal for you child. It is unforgivable what I did." He moved his hand so it rested just over the cultist's face.

The Veil weakened as the body dissolved away in a soft, golden flame.

"May you find rest," Inan whispered.

Nimwen looked around. The bodies of all the cultists laid on the ground. Her gaze turned back to the older man. "Inan?" She slowly walked towards him, still finding herself drained.

As Nimwen drew closer to him, she felt an inflex to her mana. The weariness of her body melted away as did the aches of the third trimester of her pregnancy.

"Don't come closer," Inan stated. "Return to the wagon, Lady Nimwen. I must see them off," he whispered.

"What happened?" Nimwen asked.

A light, golden looking teardrop fell to the ground before Inan. Where it struck a small sprout rose up. "I killed them," the words were softer than a whisper. "Please, go back to the wagon until my power is contained again. I don't want to harm you."

Harm her? Whatever he was doing, it seemed to be doing the exact opposite. But Nimwen was no fool. It was clear he had more power than she'd realized. But where did it come from? Nimwen blinked. "Your shackles, they're gone," she realized.

Inan bowed his head. A barrier appeared around Nimwen. It's light, soft with a gentle warmth coming from it. Inan looked towards one of the corpses. The next instance he was gone from where he had been sitting.

"Forgive me child." His voice sounded from where the body lay he had looked towards. "May you find rest."

Nimwen peered through the barrier at Inan. Her worry was starting to grow. "Inan," she said, gently. "Talk to me."

The same light rose from the corpse.

Inan was at the next in a blink of an eye. He repeated the words, hoping for their rest. When the last of the cultists' corpses were gone. Inan moved his legs so they were before him. He lifted his hand.

The shackles snapped back around his leg. A sear could be seen on the sides where the chains had been.

The second one snapped closed, the barrier lifted from around Nimwen. Inan screamed as the light drained from his body, racing down him towards the shackles. He collapsed on the ground, writhing. Soon, only a faint light remained around him. He lay there, shaking and taking in deep breaths.

"Inan!" Nimwen ran as fast as she could. "Are you all right?" She asked, kneeling beside him.

Some of the power lingered. Enough to make it feel as if the good parts of the Fade were leaking into the physical word. He took several deep breaths. "It always hurts to restrain my," he took another deep breath, "my natural form." He stood. "Please, return to the wagon, Lady Nimwen." His back was to her. "We should be off before more try again," his voice was almost unnatural in how even it was.

"But you-" Nimwen paused. She took a deep breath and sighed. "All right. All right." There was no point in arguing. There was no point in asking questions. The attackers were dead, and they needed to get back to travelling. Nimwen pushed herself to her feet. "Let's go," she said quietly. Survival was all that mattered now.

Butter seemed to have relaxed when Nimwen returned to the wagon. The spirit sat on the small padding set beside the bed. Her paws tucked under her and a soft purr came from her throat at the sight of Nimwen.

"Welcome back." Butter blinked at Nimwen. "I take it we're ready to get underway once more?"

Nimwen only nodded, taking a seat on the bed.

The sound of Inan calling the horse to go, came from outside the wagon. A soft jolt followed. The wagon moved at a gentle pace.

Butter stretched. "I'm glad. The sooner you're back with your mate and people, the safer you'll be." She moved in a small circle before coming to rest. She was now facing Nimwen, her head resting on her paws.

"Yes, you're right." Finding Solas and returning to the clan, that was her top priority. So, why couldn't she even muster a hint of determination in her voice?

A paw touched her. Butter jumped up to Nimwen's shoulders. The spirit draped herself across Nimwen's shoulders. The roughness of Butter's tongue touched Nimwen's ear.

"It will be fine. You're just in shock." Butter continued to lick Nimwen's ear in almost soothing strokes.

"Is that it?" Nimwen wasn't really sure. "I'm just so tired, Butter," Nimwen confessed. "I'm so tired, and I'm tired of being tired."

Butter nuzzled her face against Nimwen's. Her nose was wet then came the soft tickle of her whiskers. "Don't give up."

"I'm trying." Nimwen expected herself to start crying. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or saddened when she didn't shed tears. "But it just keeps going on and on. I see no end to the madness in sight. I don't know if I can…" Nimwen bowed her head, toying with her sleeve.

"You are one of the strongest people I've ever met. Your faith was strong in your creators as a child and you didn't break after that faith was shattered. You also weren't drawn to Inan in his natural form. Most keep going until they touch him in awe or collapse to their knees in tears. You didn't do either. You were worried about him, not overtaken by the sight. You _are_ strong."

A small smile graced her lips. "That's kind of you to say. It's what everyone seems to say." Nimwen tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. "Is it wrong of me to wish sometimes that I wasn't as strong as people seem to think?"

Butter purred. "Be as strong as you are. People will have faith in what they see. But you are you and are the only you there ever will be." Butter gave a soft purring laugh. "Well, that sounded better in my head. What I mean, is it's all right to drop your barriers from time to time. You don't have to be strong. Not to me and not to Inan. You don't need the facade of the Inquisitor before us." Butter licked Nimwen's cheek. "It's all right to cry."

"All I seem to do lately is cry," Nimwen said bitterly. "There's little else I can do. Look at me. I was worn out after a few ice shards and a weak barrier. I'm just as weak as when I had those blasted manacles on."

Butter purred at this. "Forgive me, Nimwen, but considering you're carrying twins, your body is focused on placing the energy into their growth. Most mages at twenty-seven weeks, with even a single child, couldn't have done as much as you did today. Even if they were placed into the same situation." Butter nuzzled Nimwen again.

"I just, I don't like being helpless," Nimwen explained. "And I hate sitting back while others risk their lives for me. Back with the Inquisition when our forces stormed Adamant and the Arbor Wilds, the thought of all those people fighting and dying for me, I didn't want to think of them as just pawns. I was right there, fighting on the front lines with them. Now, it's like I'm some pompous general in his fancy tent while others fight for me."

"That's nonsense talk." Butter butted her head against Nimwen's. It was a soft tap. "You were right there fighting with Inan. You threw punches and tried to protect him while he was down. You're heart is kind and in the right place."

Nimwen chuckled, petting Butter's head. "Perhaps I am talking nonsense." She sighed. "When did I get so grim and fatalistic? Solas would be proud."

"You've taken up some of your mate's viewpoints. Shame on you." Butter's whiskers twitched as she teased Nimwen.

Nimwen laughed. "Marriage is about sharing, isn't it?" The smile slowly fell from her face. Marriage. They were planning on being bonded before all this, weren't they? It felt like a lifetime ago. Everything had felt like it was falling into place. Mahvir and Milly were bonded, Lori was getting to know her people, Solas and Mahvir seemed to finally be getting along, and Nimwen's biggest worry was whether or not she'd finish making her _eth'enansal_ in time. "Did I ever finish it?" Nimwen wondered. "I can't even remember."

"It's almost done," Butter meowed. "It will be done shortly after you return and you will have a lovely bonding. See your daughter's smile again. Have Solas hold you. Keep those thoughts at the forefront of your mind. What it is you're traveling towards and why. That your little ones will see their father the day they're born."

Nimwen looked down at her stomach, her hand resting there. "That's all I want." She felt a kick beneath her palm and smiled. "I'll get you home, _da'lenen_. I promise."

"Be certain to keep that promise in mind whenever you feel down again. Family can be the strongest source of faith in the world."

"I remember my mother used to say that family was the heart of the people," Nimwen said. "I understand now what she meant."

Butter purred. "Yes, it is. Makes me wonder what Dirthamen is to the People." Her whiskers twitched in amusement.

"Mahvir is loved by the People, no matter what name he goes by." Nimwen petted Butter. "He's done so much for us, there's no way we'd ever be able to repay him."

"Oh, yes, I see, but I spoke of what he did when he was younger and tales which tell of it in the way. The People say, and it is truth, it was Dirthamen who taught the People the value, faith, and loyalty in family." Butter purred and rubbed against Nimwen's hand. "Curious considering how hard of a time he has had with his own. But his faith in the People is strong and his belief that family can bond the People like no other force is what has shaped him and this world. Especially considering he views all the People as his family. All he did for you and your daughter, he would have done regardless of relation to you. He would have played with Lori and treated her like a sister, no matter what."

Butter purred. "But I am glad he has faith in you as a person and a mother figure."

"As am I," Nimwen agreed. "Some may find it strange, since he is so much older than I am, but I truly do see him as my son."

"Well, shame on you," Butter teased. "Kidding. Your family is forever going to be strange because of how old they all are. I mean your little ones will be the same age as your grandkids."

"Don't remind me," Nimwen sighed. "Three children out of wedlock, and a grandmother before thirty. What would my parents think of me now?" She smirked.

"Well, your son is Dirthamen," Butter stated. "Or the Toymaker as they really knew him as. I believe, after some initial shock, they would have approved of him becoming part of your family. Plus, I do believe your father was rather fond of wolves."

Nimwen burst into laughter. "He-he really did!" She said between laughs. "F-fate really does have a sense of humor."

"Or it's why you feel for a wolf," Butter pointed out. "Because your dad always talked about them," she teased.

"Want to know what's really funny?" Nimwen asked, wiping her eyes.

Butter nudged Nimwen with her muzzle.

"I'm actually a cat person!" Nimwen snickered.

"Oh, I knew I liked you." Butter licked Nimwen's cheek, purring deep in her chest.

"Funny how things work out like that," Nimwen said.

"Yes, it is." Butter slid from Nimwen's shoulders and stretched.

"Tiring of me already?"

"If you laid down, your stomach makes a warm place to nap on," Butter's eyes widened as she pleaded.

"Glad to know I've been reduced to a heated bed," Nimwen chuckled as she laid on the bed.

Butter purred. She curled up on Nimwen's side. "We have to make the most of it while it lasts, right? Some perks to being pregnant?" Butter teased.

"Yes. Back pain, stomach pain, swollen feet, and feeling my ribs being kicked at night, but at least I make a comfy bed," Nimwen chuckled.

Butter gave a contented purr. "And I get to feel the little ones shifting." Her purr deepened. "I always wished I could have little kittens, but as a spirit it's not really possible."

" _Ir abelas_ ," Nimwen said. "I can't imagine what that must feel like."

"I also wish Inan was a tom cat from time to time, he'd be such a pretty tom. Long, soft, golden fur. He'd be my tom, of course," Butter joked.

Nimwen chuckled. "Might I ask, why did you decide to be a cat? As a spirit I'm sure you could have taken on many forms."

"It was the form that fit."

"You sound like Cole," Nimwen replied. Her thoughts went to her old friend. She hadn't heard from him in a long time, and had no idea where he was. She wondered what he and Maryden were up to. _'I hope you're happy,'_ she thought.

"To fully answer your question. I took the form a cat because it brought hope to a little, lonely boy."

"Now you _really_ sound like Cole." Nimwen turned her head to Butter. "Who was the boy? Was it Inan?"

"It was. I was born from his faith in the world itself and thus, I saw him alone and wished to resort his hopes and faith. I became a cat and promised I would never leave his side." Butter gave a soft purring breath. "Not that I want him to remember that moment. It would hurt him more to remember the loneliness and pain. It would never help him."

"He's lucky to have you," Nimwen said, stroking the cat's fur.

"Thank you. I hope he learns he can stay with his family this time. That he has a place he is needed and belongs."

"I don't know why, but that seems to be a lesson the men in this family have a hard time grasping."

Butter gave a soft mrrw of agreement. "It's men being hard headed."

"Let's hope this whole mess will set everyone straight," Nimwen said.

Butter yawned. "There is always hope." She tucked her nose under her tail. "We should get some sleep before dawn comes."

"You're right," Nimwen agreed. Fortunately, as her pregnancy progressed she found it easier to fall asleep, mainly because she was more tired as of late. Nimwen shifted on the bed and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Butter."

"May your dreams be guarded, Nimwen."

* * *

 _ma isala halani_ \- are you in need of help?

* * *

 **Flame:** Go, Butter! Err, go, Faith?


	26. Chapter 26

**Second part of a duel update!**

 **Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. It means a lot to both Herenya and I.**

* * *

Nimwen pulled her finger from her mouth and examined it. "Great," she grimaced at the smear of red. Soon after waking she noted a distinct metallic taste coating her mouth. Sure enough, her gums were bleeding. "They never tell you about this part," she said to Butter. "Cravings, morning sickness, everybody knows that, but why does nobody mention that your gums start bleeding if you so much as lick them?"

"Because then the already dying elvhen will fully die off?" Butter asked. She yawned, stretching her jaws wide so every white pointed tooth could be seen.

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Yes, bloody gums shall be the doom for elvhen kind." She rubbed her teeth with a finger, to ensure she wouldn't have a bloody smile. It was certainly one of the less glamorous parts of pregnancy, perhaps that was why it was rarely mentioned.

Butter purred, her whiskers twitching. "Not what I meant. Only bright sides I've seen to kids is when they move in you, having them, and the conceiving of them." Butter hopped off Nimwen and stretched her long legs. "If you went around telling the People all that happens to the body, it would scare most little ones out of having kids. Don't ever tell a Fear Demon." Her eyes stretched wide at this. "There is too great a drop rate in births since the People lost their immortality."

"The keeper told me that once," Nimwen said. "I had no real frame of reference, I'd only known the clan, and we'd always been small. Deshanna said that the elvhen's numbers had lessened over the years, that we didn't have as many children as humans did. When I heard some human families had five, seven, even _ten_ children, I couldn't believe it. In my clan most of us were only children, even three children was considered a lot. And siblings were typically far apart in age, like my brother and I. He was ten when I was born." Nimwen looked down at her stomach. "And now I'll have three children with only a four year difference."

Butter's purr depended. "Leave it to a wolf to have many children," she teased.

Butter moved into the bags and pulled out some food for Nimwen. The spirit was careful to only touch the packaging Inan had made for each day's meals. He had made the packages from hide for days when he wasn't planning any stops.

"Here you are. Breakfast!" Butter nudged the package a little further, then tripped over it when she reached the bed. She purred in laughter. "It's a little heavy for a cat."

Nimwen chuckled as she took the package. " _Ma serannas_ for your efforts, Butter." Nimwen opened the packaging and started eating the dried fruit. She'd become quite familiar with dried fruit over the past few weeks. After eating nothing but meat, it was a welcome change. "Say, Butter," Nimwen asked. "Could I ask you something?"

"Yes?" Butter had pulled out a smaller package for herself. She was nibbling at the dried meat it contained.

"I've been thinking of names for the twins, and I have an idea that's grown on me, but, well you see," Nimwen's hands toyed with the food packaging. "I'm not sure what Solas would think."

"Hmm." Butter sat back on her hunches. "I do believe he will just be grateful to have you back, in tears at the sight of you well and unharmed, and just happy to let you name the little hearts."

"I don't want this to be only my decision," Nimwen replied. "I named Lori by myself, and even if it's my idea, I want it to be both our decision." Nimwen sighed. "I'd like to name them Fen and Fennir, after Solas."

Butter purred. "Lovely names. Have faith in your choice, he will like the names."

"Are you sure?" Nimwen asked. "I know he didn't choose to be called Fen'Harel, and wasn't keen on how the People viewed the _evanuris_ but- oh, how do I explain this?" Nimwen groaned. "What I'm trying to say, is that even if he didn't want it, the People looked up to him. He fought for their freedom, he stood up to tyrants. Fen'Harel was the name of a force for good, until history twisted it," she added with a tone of regret. "And I'd thought… it was a legacy worthy of his children as well."

While Nimwen had spoken, Butter had settled herself on the bed, eyes watchful. "The names will suit them." Butter paused. "Not to deter you from calling them that, but Solas's view of the _evanuris_ is just that an opinion. While correct in terms of Elgar'nan and Andruil, the extremes out of the family, it doesn't fit all of them. Yes, Falon'Din became a tyrant to try and earn his father's trust and love, to try and bury his real self and desires in ones his father viewed as acceptable. Sylaise and June were later forceful to their people as well, but history is a tangled weave now muddled in memory instead of facts."

"I guess I was being general," Nimwen responded. Inside, it made her feel slightly better to learn that while far from benevolent, the other creators weren't completely horrible. "Another thing, you mentioned Falon'Din burying his 'real self.' What was he trying to hide so badly? I don't understand why he feared Elgar'nan would reject him. It wasn't like he had Mahvir's physical issues."

Butter blinked. "What you must understand is Elgar'nan isn't the most accepting of people. I watched the twins outside of the Fade for Inan for centuries. One matter I noticed is Falon'Din loved his brother more than life itself. The women he slept with and tried to take as mates, he couldn't feel love for. Not because he can't love, but because he isn't attracted to women in general."

Nimwen's eyes widened. "Oh." She blinked. "I, certainly didn't see _that_ coming."

"Elgar'nan would never accept a son who wasn't his view of perfect. Whenever Falon'Din did minor slip ups, it resulted in war between them and Falon'Din either being put back into place by his mother or losing horribly to his father. He would have to beg forgiveness. Though I think there was only two attempts on Falon'Din's life by Elgar'nan. One was when Falon'Din was little and Elgar'nan caught him playing a flute to a dying owl. The other," Butter trailed. "Well, I am just pointing out, there is more to what has happened in history than one viewpoint. Also, if Falon'Din ever redeems himself and switches sides, promise me you won't be creeped out about how he acts around Dirthamen."

Nimwen raised a brow. "How he acts around Dirthamen? Aside from trying to kill him, you mean?"

Butter's gaze was serious as she stared at Nimwen. "Not even I know all the events around what happened that day and the events following. I do know he has fought with himself since then. He beats himself on the inside and out for what he did to his brother. In nightmares he killed his brother, in dreams they were together like old times. Falon'Din wanted his father's approval so much he grew blind to his own heart and his own truth. He lost his faith in himself and thus tried to mimic his father." Butter shook herself. "I'm not trying to get you to forgive him, Nimwen. He has had an uphill battle, not as bad as Dirthamen's who never had the love of either parent, but a battle nonetheless."

"So I've heard." Nimwen ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know what to think of Falon'Din. I'll leave my judgments for when we meet again, if we meet again."

"You may yet be surprised."

The wagon stopped. The next moment, Inan crawled in from the driver's seat. "Sorry," he muttered as he moved over to one of the bags. He pulled out a cape and draped it over his shoulders. The slight glow which clung to him, vanished in the folds of the cloak. He started back towards the front of the wagon.

"Tired of driving for the day?" Nimwen asked.

Inan paused. His hand rested on the edge of the wagon as if he was about to leap back through the flaps to the driver's seat. "No," he stated, not looking at her. "We'll be passing a town. Best not to draw attention to the fact I am one, an elf and two, giving off a golden light." His voice remained even throughout this, almost dead in tone compared to normal.

"Good point," Nimwen said. "If you're worried about being detected, perhaps I could drive? At least until we are more secluded."

"No." Inan slipped through the flaps.

Butter huffed. "He's still upset. It will take him a bit to look at you again let alone act like his more playful curious self. I am sorry about this. Perhaps give him another month, despite already giving him a month."

Nimwen nodded, but still felt disappointed. She was hoping that Inan would start talking to her again. After the run in with the Harbringers, Nimwen had hardly seen Inan let alone talked to him; given that they were both passengers of the same small wagon with only them and a cat, that was quite the feat. "I don't know why he's avoiding me," Nimwen confessed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"He's afraid your opinion of him has changed. He hates his power, Nimwen. He hates what it does to people and how it makes them view him," Butter explained.

"I don't see him any differently," Nimwen insisted. To be honest, seeing his power for herself wasn't exactly nothing, but it didn't change how she saw him as a person. "It changes what I thought of his powers, given I didn't know what he was fully capable of," she said. "But I'm not stupid, he's still the same person. That's like people thinking I was different after seeing me use the Anchor." Suddenly Nimwen thought back to a memory. Her, Solas, both on the balcony at Skyhold, the first time he'd called her _vhenan._ He asked her if she felt the Anchor had changed her, made her different than who she was before. All of a sudden, worrying one's power could change somebody's perception didn't seem that absurd. _'Is that what happened with all the others? What would they have thought of me if I didn't have that mark?'_ Nimwen began to wonder.

While Nimwen had been thinking, Butter had drifted to sleep and the wagon had started to slow. It came to a stop. Inan reappeared. "We're well passed the town now," he told her. He pulled his hood down. The gray of his eyes almost seemed to stand out by the soft light he gave off. He moved to one of the bags and pulled out a few items. "My apologies for not tending to you until now, Nimwen. How do you feel?"

"Like I ate a cannon ball," Nimwen joked, trying to lighten the mood. "The twins have been getting more active."

Inan moved over to her. "To be expected." He gave her a soft smile but didn't quite look her in the eye. His hands were light as he checked her pulse. "Heart rate is good. We'll have to get you out of the wagon for a little walk this afternoon. May I? I wish to check on the little ones." He gestured to her stomach.

"Go right ahead," she answered.

Inan moved his hands over her stomach. A soft golden light came from them as usual. He stopped, which wasn't usual. "I just realized something," he stated, opening his eyes.

"What?" Nimwen asked.

Inan shifted a little. "Without the chains suppressing my," he hesitated, "my full powers, I should be able to, if you would like, transfer what I see to you through the Fade. It wouldn't hurt and it would give you a view of the little ones before they're born."

Nimwen's eyes widened. "You could do that?" Seeing them before they were born? It sounded insane. It also sounded like an opportunity she couldn't pass up. "Show me, I'd love to see."

Inan's hand moved over her eyes. "Close your eyes and relax."

Nimwen closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

A soft, warm, golden light fell over her eyelids. She felt Inan's other hand over her stomach. Images appeared before eyes. It started from the little feet of two babies and moved down. They shifted a little in her and she could feel the pressure against her. As Inan's hand moved, she could finally see what gender they were. His hand stopped low and she could see small tufts of hair and the small faces of the twins. Nimwen felt a warmth blossom in her chest, as well as emotions she couldn't even name. There they were. Her babies. Her precious sons. " _A-aneth ara_ , _da'lenen,_ " she stammered out, her voice choked despite her smile. She felt the warm tears running down her face. "Oh, Inan, they're beautiful," she whispered, utterly awestruck. "My sweet boys, my Fen and Fennir."

Inan chuckled. "And they can hear you now," he told her in a gentle voice. "You will have fine, healthy sons, Nimwen."

"They have my hair." It was a silly thing to focus on, but seeing the dark tufts of hair made Nimwen grin. "You two have been giving me quite the hard time," Nimwen chuckled. "If you could calm down on the kicking, _mamae_ would appreciate it." Despite her jokes, Nimwen felt herself getting emotional. "I can see them," she hiccuped. "They're right there, before my eyes." Her shoulders began to shake. "Oh, Solas, why couldn't you be here right now?"

Inan's hand withdrew, breaking off the images of the children. "My apologies, Nimwen. They are healthy, if not a little impatient." He settled himself beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Nimwen blinked, as if trying to bring back the images once more. Wiping her eyes, she leaned into Inan's side. " _Ma serannas_ ," she said, rubbing her stomach. "It won't be much longer, will it?"

"I am going to try and delay the birth as long as possible without harming them. I believe another five weeks is the max time they will be patient for." Inan sighed. "If we're lucky, we will meet with the clan the day you go into labor." He rubbed his eyes.

"I'd hoped we might have had more time," Nimwen said with a sigh. "But I shouldn't complain."

"If it wouldn't run a risk to the twins," he trailed off and sighed. "There are too many factors and stress will only increase the odds of earlier premature births." He shook head head.

"What would happen if they were born earlier?" Nimwen asked, suddenly worried.

"Too early and a baby will have medical problems. Getting them close to the forty week mark is the best and thirty-six weeks is pretty good for twins. Triplets." Nimwen could feel him shudder. "I always fear such births among the people."

"I can't imagine three, two already seems crazy." Nimwen looked down at her belly. "Don't worry _da'lenen_ , Grandpa Inan is going to make sure you're both fine."

Inan chuckled. "And you as well, Nimwen."

"I picked names for them," she said, a small smile on her face. "Fen and Fennir, that is, if Solas likes those names."

"Named for Solas, I take it?" Inan asked. He had a soft smile on his face.

"Yes, I thought it'd be nice to name them after their father," Nimwen explained.

"Hopefully they don't take after his teen years," Inan chuckled. "Butter used to send me images of him and Nan growing up. Solas was," he hesitated, "wild."

Nimwen laughed. "I still find it so strange to imagine. Solas is always so meticulous, collected. Wild is hardly the word I'd used to describe him."

"If you had seen his hair, you might not think it's too far off," Inan chuckled. "He had shaved the sides of his head, his hair color was dirty-blond like Nalas's and he wore it back in dreadlocks." Inan paused then explained, "A dreadlock was where you would take a strands of hair," - Inan took a lock of his hair - "and rubbed it together like this," - he started twisting the hair back and forth in his hands. "Generally the hair is bound at the end until you have it nice and tangled all the way to your head." He stopped and combed out his hair with his fingers. "If not maintained it can look really bad, but Solas always kept it up, something about disliking brushing his hair, but not wanting to cut it either."

Nimwen tried to imagine Solas with this wild hair, but given she'd never seen him with hair, it was hard to picture. "Now I know where Lori gets her hair from," she smirked.

"Do you want to see?" Inan asked. "I can transfer a memory Butter gave me to you, if you would like."

Nimwen pondered it. Seeing what Solas looked like as a young man? "Absolutely," Nimwen said with a grin.

Inan chuckled. "Like with the twins, close your eyes and relax." Inan placed his hand over her eyes.

Nimwen closed her eyes, feeling quite giddy.

An image started to form, this one clear with color. It showed a barren world, darkness pressed down from the sky, rimmed green at the edges. A man moved from the shadows of an overhang, he wore only a long cloth with fluttered at his legs and left his strong arms and chest exposed to the world. The bone snout of a wolf was on his forehead with teeth running along a line to the were his hair was pulled back. Strands of his hair looked blocky like the description Inan had given her. Sure enough the sides of his head were shaved. It was all too clear this was Solas. He was younger, closer to the end of his teen years, but still Solas.

"O-oh wow," Nimwen stuttered. She felt herself blush. It wasn't like she didn't find the present Solas handsome, he was _quite_ handsome as far as she was concerned, though seeing his younger self was…

"I'll admit, the hair isn't as strange as I thought it'd be."

Inan chuckled and removed his hand from her eyes. "Yes, well, he might just teach one of your sons how to make their hair like that," Inan warned.

"I'll deal with that when it comes," Nimwen chuckled. "I wonder if the boys will take after Solas or myself," she mused. "Lori is a good mix of both of us, though I feel she resembles Solas more."

"Hard to tell while they're babies," Inan mused. "Lori is a beautiful child from what I saw in her dreams. She looks a lot like both of you." He laughed. "Solas, outside of the horrid eyebrows of mine, long face," - he pulled at his chin, grinning a rather funny grin - "and the eyes, looks like Nalas. I fear all your children will be doomed to her lovely chin though." He winked.

Nimwen giggled. "It's indeed a lovely chin," she retorted. "In fact, I hope all my children have it. We can make it a family tradition."

Inan burst out laughing. "It's a dominate trait," he managed to say through his laughter. "I have never, in all my centuries, seen a child with one parent without a cleft chin and one with, end up without."

Nimwen snorted. "Well, _ara seranna-ma,_ father, but I'm not an expert on chins." Nimwen's eyes widened in realization. "Uh, I…"

Inan frazzled Nimwen's hair. "It's quite all right," - his grin widened as he winked - "daughter. Not everyone can be expected to know everything like," he paused and snapped his fingers, "like a Spirit of Wisdom!"

Nimwen blinked, and slowly found herself smiling. "Quite right."

"You two are noisy," Butter complained. She turned and curled up into a tighter ball.

"Come now, Butter, join in the fun," Nimwen teased. "We've done much while you slept. I found out I'm having sons. Sons!" That fact still felt surreal to her. Her hand went to the top of her stomach, where she felt someone start to kick.

Inan chuckled. "I do believe one of them heard you." He moved a little from her. "I should get us moving again. If you need fresh air, tell me and I will slow the wagon so you can join me on the driver seat."

"Very well. _Ma serannas_ … father."

Inan grinned.

*~ X ~*

Inan frowned as he consulted a map. He turned it then looked over at the landscape. Three weeks had passed with only short stops for Nimwen to stretch, walk around, and get some fresh air. The air had warmed as summer bared down on them.

"Butter should be returning soon," Inan informed Nimwen who was seated in the wagon behind him.

"Good to know," Nimwen replied. She was finishing the end of her braid. "This is much easier than braiding Lori's hair," she said. "That girl has so much hair, it takes forever to braid it. She got it from my mother, I'm certain."

"Or from Solas's side," Inan paused and confessed, "err, my side."

"Oh no, your hair is somehow always tamed. Lori's hair is a _beast_. A gentle breeze could turn it onto a rat's nest."

"Years of experience is all that keeps my hair nice, Nimwen," Inan half joked.

A purr of amusement sounded as Butter appeared from under the wagon. "You should have seen Inan's hair when he was younger."

Inan's ears grew hot. "Oh, Butter, bad cat."

"He got it tangled in everything. Tree branches, bark, bushes, rocks at the bottom of a river, that one was funny to watch," she purred harder, whiskers twitching, "a sand dune, still not sure how that worked though. Oh, a cave when a giant spider was after him."

"Butter!" Inan's entire face was hot now.

Nimwen chuckled. "And this is why the Dalish prefer shorter hair."

"Oh, oh, and-"

Inan leapt at Butter, she was not telling _that_ story.

Butter danced out of his reach. "And this one time he fell from the highest branches of tree. He ended up stuck for three days by his hair alone."

Inan sighed. At least it hadn't been the other story.

Nimwen's smile widened as she laughed. "You remind me of my brother. Sin is always getting stuck in places. Just before I was taken, he got caught in a beaver den!"

"That's not even the funniest one."

"Butter!" Inan dove under the wagon after the cat.

She hopped over him. "How he met Nalas, is. He decided to spying on her day in and day out was a good idea, but never actually talking to her. Emperor who was scared to say 'hello.'"

"Butter, stop!" Inan wiggled out and looked around for the cat.

"One day, he stopped to watch her train. Of course, he stopped behind a weapon wrack. His hair got tangled in the practice blades. When he moved to leave the entire wrack fell on him. It got him to say 'hi' at along last."

"How sweet," Nimwen teased, poking Inan's shoulder.

Inan coughed, trying to get rid of the heat in his face. He stood. "Butter, how far off is the clan now?"

The spirit was seated by Nimwen now. Her tail flicking with mischief. "We'll meet them in two weeks near Lake Celestine if we continue at this pace."

"Good."

"Two weeks." It sounded like relief in her voice. "Two weeks and this will all be over."

"Yes," Inan stated then felt dread settle in his gut. Two weeks then he would have to face one of his sons and actually confess to being his blood father. Well, if Nimwen had her way and, he would be lying if he said he didn't want it to go her way. Still, the last time he had spoken with Solas hadn't gone too well.

"You'll get to see daddy soon," Nimwen said to the twins. "And your big sister, big brother, your uncle, and everyone else. What do you think of that, Fen and Fennir?"

"Let's get going so it happens!" Inan leapt to his feet and tripped in the next heartbeat. He landed on his face. He leapt back up. "That didn't happen."

Nimwen smirked as she stood. "I don't know what you're talking about, father," she said as she stepped down from the wagon. "I need to walk around a bit," she groaned as she popped her back. "Goodness these two are heavy. I feel like I'm about to fall over."

"Ha, take that, Butter, my forgetfulness powers work!" Inan joked, moving his fingers through the air at the cat.

Butter shook her head. "The oldest kid."

Inan cleared his throat and moved over to Nimwen's side. "On a more serious note, a walk will do you good."

"I agree," she nodded. "Care to keep me from toppling over?" She asked as she took his arm.

"It would be my pleasure." Inan bowed slightly. "Butter, stay with the wagon, we won't go far so I will know if you eat anything."

Butter hissed. "I won't sneak food."

"We know, Butter," Nimwen said. She began to walk at a slow place. "It feels good to move around again," she told Inan. "Though, it'd feel much better if my feet weren't swollen like grapefruits."

"In two weeks, it will be over at least. In more ways than one." Inan smiled a little at this.

"Don't I know it." Nimwen sighed. "To be honest, I'm a bit nervous," Nimwen confessed. "You'd think after the first child, it would be easier, but just thinking about when the time comes, I can feel my heart begin to pound."

"Childbirth is always a little dangerous, less so if you have the right healer. Just no kicking me in the face, please. I can't tell you how many times that happened. All from the same woman too. All three times she had a kid." He laughed and rubbed his nose.

"I can't make any promises. When I had Lori I broke Dorian's hand," Nimwen chuckled.

"I do heal fast at least." Inan glanced in the direction of the lake. He only hoped she would be home before she gave birth. He feared Elgar'nan's forces would reach the clan before they did.

"Good news for you then, not so much for Dorian." Her smile fell. "Everything will be all right, won't it? I know that birthing twins can be dangerous."

Inan moved his arm so it was around her shoulders. "I'll make certain everything is all right," he assured her.

"Good. Good." It seemed that a nearby tree was garnering her attention. "But, let's say things… _don'_ t go right," she said. "I-I was hoping I could ask you something."

"No, I don't do baby diapers," Inan teased.

"No, it's not that," she shook her head. "If something goes wrong and you're forced to make a choice. Choose them. I don't care what happens to me, no matter what I want you to keep my sons alive. Do you understand?"

Inan stopped. He touched her chin to make her look at him. "It's not a choice I will have to make. I have a reputation to keep up," he paused and laughed. "Well, in the Fade at the very least, as the best healer in existence." In more serious tones, his voice softer as he spoke, "Nimwen, if without the shackles I can kill with a thought, what do you think that means for when I'm healing?"

"I know, I know," Nimwen snapped. "I just want to make sure if something goes wrong you know what to do. I can't lose them, father, I just can't." She let out a shuddering sigh. "And one more thing. If something happens and I'm not around, please, tell Solas, Lori, Mahvir, everyone, let them know that I love them with every fiber of my being. Tell Solas I will always be his _vhenan_ and that he is mine. Tell Lori that _mamae_ loves her very much. Let-" she paused to wipe at her eyes. "When they're older, let the twins know I loved them even before they were born, and that I thought they were beautiful."

Inan pulled Nimwen into an embrace, though he knew it was was weak. " _Ne'dareth, da'len. Ir amen dirthavan_ ," Inan whispered. "You'll be safe, Nimwen, but I will keep this promise," Inan repeated in common.

" _Ma serannas,_ father," Nimwen whispered, returning the embrace. "I know nothing will go wrong but, fuck I'm terrified."

"It is all right to be afraid. It reminds all of us what is truly important in life. I'm glad you think of your family." He held to the embrace a little longer before pulling back. "Shall we return to the wagon?"

"Yes, let's make sure Butter didn't eat all the food," Nimwen chuckled, all traces of her earlier distress seemingly gone.

"If she has, she doesn't get anything for the next two weeks," Inan huffed a little. He was glad to see her happier. "That will teach her not to sneak food."

"Lori went through a phase like that," Nimwen said as the pair walked back to the wagon. "Luckily it was short lived. I'm hoping these two won't have one."

"Boy's are bottomless pits. I thought half of the boys I knew would eat the castle clean most of the time. Or tent, wherever I was living at the time. I swear they didn't chew."

Nimwen snorted. "And I'm having two. Oh, boy."

Inan chuckled and rubbed the back of head. "Not all boys are like that. You could end up with one as picky as Dirthamen. It took Falon'Din burning or wheedling him for hours to get him to eat as a boy." Inan frowned. "He certainly didn't get that from me."

"I'm well aware of his aversion to food," Nimwen sighed. "I'm hoping he's been eating while I've been away. Though between Deshanna and Milliel I can't imagine he'd slip up."

They had made it back to the wagon as Nimwen said this. "It's any wonder men can put one foot in front of the other without a woman," Butter sniffed. "Inan most of all. He just trips."

Inan grinned. "Yup, you're such a terrible woman, Butter."

"I'm not _your_ woman."

"You're the only who's stayed with me all these years," Inan teased.

"I-I." Butter pinned her ears back. "I am going to take a nap." She stalked into the the wagon, tail high.

"Is there still food in there?" Nimwen teased.

"Plenty, I didn't take even the smallest of nibbles."

"Good." Inan helped Nimwen into the wagon. He then crawled through the front into the driver's seat. "Ready?" He called back to them.

"Let's ride," said Nimwen.

Inan hummed under his breath as he got the horse into a gentle walk.

* * *

 _Ne'dareth, da'len. Ir amen dirthavan_ \- You will be safe, little child. I will keep the promise.  
 _ara seranna-ma_ \- excuse me

* * *

 **Flame:** I can see why people love Inan. I love adore writing him, especially when it's him with Butter.


	27. Chapter 27

Night lay thick over the sleeping clan as Solas slipped between the _aravels_. He had to fight back scowling at being awake right then let alone being away from his daughter. Solas moved into the _hahren_ 's _aravel_. The _aravel_ would become Dirthamen's and his mate's after Theon passed, but right then it was one of the few places no one went except for the young children during lessons in the day.

Dirthamen and Falon'Din were already there. Dirthamen stood with his back to Solas while Falon'Din was kneeling by the small amount of instruments the clan owned. All was quiet between the twins. The silence was almost unnerving.

"What was important enough to call me away from Lori in the middle of the night?" Solas asked. His gaze flickered between the twins, skin crawling on the back of neck.

"Dirth wanted to talk to us both," Falon'Din stated. "I don't know what it's about anymore than you do, Uncle." Falon'Din stood and soothed his plain cloths, scowling a little from under the black mask. "Not that soothing this helps," he muttered.

Solas ignored his nephew's last comment and looked at his eldest. "Dirthamen?"

When Dirthamen finally spoke, his voice was soft, "How far are you willing to go to aid in protecting the clan and Nimwen, Solas?"

"As far as necessary," Solas retorted, scowling. "You should know this. I'm not letting Elgar'nan take Lori or get Nimwen back in his grasp."

"Will you let the clan learn you're Fen'Harel?" Dirthamen turned to Solas, his dark eyes intense in the moons' light which flittered in from outside.

Solas shifted as unease flickered in his heart. He hadn't thought about this until now, but Dirthamen had a point even if he hadn't spoken it. Using Mythal's ability to turn the people of this world to stone was one thing. But in a fight with Elgar'nan? No, the ability would only slow his brother, if that. It would never be a enough even with the full might of Dirthamen and Falon'Din backing him. This was assuming both of them revealed themselves as _evenuris_ as well.

"Whatever is necessary," Solas repeated, even knowing Nimwen could end up banished from her clan by saying this.

Dirthamen turned his gaze on Falon'Din.

"You needn't ask me, I don't have any issues with getting out these clothes and back into good ones let alone showing my real power to the clan." Falon'Din flicked his wrist. "Besides, Athim isn't really my favorite of names. No offense meant by that, Dirth."

"It will take all of three of us to distract Elgar'nan from both the clan and Nimwen's arrival," Dirthamen told them.

"What have you seen?" Solas pressed when Dirthamen didn't continue. His stomach knotted. Nimwen would arriving then in the middle of a warzone, pregnant, not to mention near childbirth. The thought didn't settle well with Solas.

"Even with a boost to your own strength, Solas, the three of us combined aren't going to be able to stop Elgar'nan," Dirthamen explained. "He's been gathering power since first waking. Most was from Falon'Din." He bowed his head to his twin. "The rest came from mages he's killed for the little power they possessed."

"So, he's back to full strength within nearly four years while the three of us are under full?" Falon'Din asked. "For Uncle and I it would because we've just woken nearly four years ago, or just over in Uncle's case. For you," Falon'Din trailed off, but Solas saw his gaze locked onto Dirithamen's leg and left side.

"For me I will be useless without Fear and Deceit," Dirthamen finished for Falon'Din as he tapped his cane against his bad leg.

"We're ready for the battle," Fear snapped his beak from where he had been watching them. "Deceit and I can join with Dirthamen. We'll hold to him as long as we can."

"Which means a staggered possession?" Falon'Din asked.

"It does," Dirthamen confirmed. "I will start with Fear and soon after Deceit will join me as well."

"We're going to be blind through the battle then." Solas didn't much like this, but they would need Dirthamen no matter what in the fight with Elglar'nan. With his lungs and body in the condition it was, he couldn't fight like he used to without the spirits' aid. Solas sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It is the only option."

Dirthamen pulled something from his bag. "I took this from you with the staff after the fall of Elvhenan."

Solas blinked and looked at what Dirthamen held out to him. It was the final piece of Solas's old armor. The hood covered in the pelt of a wolf. It was the last item June had ever crafted for Solas. The hood had been seen as a joke, but it still had most defensive and offensive boosts woven into than all the necklaces, belts, and rings Nimwen had them use during his time with the Inquisition.

" _Ma serannas_ , Dirthamen." Solas took the pelt. He could feel the tingle of power as his fingers laced into the thick fur. The fur would also make him invisible to the normal eye until he wished to strike. "This will come in handy during the fight." Solas couldn't stop a smile. They might stand a chance. "Falon'Din, I will return your scythe to you before the fighting starts."

"Well, good. I didn't much fancy having one of those staves the People use now. It would shatter the second Elgar'nan so much as glanced at me."

Not to mention his power would have been cut in battle with a mortal staff.

The realization started to sink in as Solas looked at his son and nephew. For the first time in over eighty centuries, since the fall of the _banal'ras sa_ , he would be fighting side-by-side with the twins once more. Solas's grip tightened on the fur as excitement washed through him. He shouldn't have felt excited. He should have wanted the clan to not be dragged into this, let alone to fight his brother in this way again. But there was something very different about the prospect of fighting alongside two of his blood family once more which he hadn't felt during all the time with the Inquisition. He had enjoyed the company of those members, sometimes.

It wasn't the same. No matter the years he could have fought alongside them, there was a difference in knowing the movements of the twins as both his allies and his enemies to the point he would know exactly where and when they would be within a fight. The idea, even if his power had been little compared now, he wouldn't have to hold back in fear he might harm one of them. They knew his fighting style and abilities just as well as Solas knew their own.

"So, what's the plan? Since you can see the start of the battle at least," Falon'Din broke Solas's thoughts. His gaze moved between Solas and Dirthamen. "You two are the best strategists in existence, so if you don't have a plan, I feel like we're all screwed no matter what we do."

"You can see the base of the first leg of the fight," Solas agreed. "Is there a way we can ambushed."

Dirthamen looked towards Falon'Din.

The movement made Solas grin. He hadn't felt like this in far too long. "You have a few dead under your thrall, don't you?"

Falon'Din rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, but only about twenty. It won't be enough to turn the tide of battle. I couldn't risk taking more of those Elgar'nan killed or were killed through the cold of the Frostbacks without Elgar'nan noticing what I was doing."

Twenty was still a good number. "If you can turn them to our side near the start of the fighting, it will cause just enough chaos for the clan's warriors and hunters to gain an edge."

"It will cause Elgar'nan to turn his gaze to Falon'Din first," Dirthamen stated. "So, at the start of the battle, Falon'Din will need to positioned with the Keeper and the the hunters on one of the hills near the lake."

"Agreed. Deshanna can keep the hunters up with her barriers while Falon'Din can move away from them after drawing Elgar'nan's attention."

"He will still attack the clan," Dirthamen stated. "It's going to be split between us as the fighting draws out to protect the _aravels_. There will be no cover for them that close to the lake."

Fear shot through Solas. Then it ebbed back, Dirthamen had a plan. "Continue," Solas urged his son.

"For the start of the fight, Elgar'nan's attention will be where the children and those of the clan who can't fight will be."

"The _aravels_ ," Falon'Din whispered. "It's always been father's strategy to hit his opponent's weakness. He'll view the People in the clan as ours."

"Those who can't fight should be able to fit into Teren's _aravel_ , correct?" Solas asked.

Dirthamen nodded. "Teren will most likely stay out with a few who can still fight to protect the _aravels_. That's where I will be as well. Knowing Deshanna and Teren, both of them will want me as far from the fighting as possible."

"But it also sets us with the best defense of the clan for Elgar'nan's initial strike. Fear's barrier is the strongest out of all our barriers when combined with your own power," Solas pointed out.

"Yes," Dirthamen agreed. "But I will have to delay fusing with him until Elgar'nan is ready to strike.

"Do you still have the robes June made you, brother?" Falon'Din asked.

Dirthamen nodded. "But I would rather not wear them again."

"Dirth, the power in those robes will be needed, especially given," Solas trailed off. He wasn't certain if Dirthamen's condition was a sour spot with him or not.

A small sigh escaped Dirthamen. "I suppose there is no way around it, is there. I will have to wear them."

Solas understood why Dirthamen didn't like the idea. Most statues of him which had survived the fall showed Dirthamen in those robes. The moment he was fully in them and in them alone, the clan would recognize him as Dirthamen.

"I will stay with the Keeper and archers for the start of the battle as well." Solas looked between the twins. "We should speak with Deshanna in the morning."

"Sinderon, Bora, and another as well," Dirthamen added.

Solas just nodded.

*~ X ~*

"You all right?"

Sinderon turned his head towards his uncle. "Hmm?"

"You're tense as a bow," Bora explained. "Something wrong?"

"Battle plans." The two were heading to the _hahren's aravel_ to meet with the others for the meeting. Meeting to plan for the coming battle. Yet another battle for his clan. How many would they lose this time? The last battle lost them many of their hunters, Bevon. The one before that took-

"Hey."

The hand on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts.

"We gotta make plans so we can kick that cult's ass, right"

Sinderon blinked. "Yes. You're right." He wasn't going to lose anyone else he cared for, not on his watch.

The two men approached the large _aravel_ belonging to the _hahren_ and climbed inside.

"We're here," Sinderon said.

"About time you showed up."

"Hey, sword lady, you're here too?" Bora smirked as he came inside. "What was it again, Arthur?"

The warrior's cheeks went pink. "It's _Arla_ ," she glared.

"You should never insult a lady, it's very unbecoming of a gentlemen," Falon'Din stated from where he stood near to Arla.

Solas shook his head at this.

"You're silently judging me, Uncle. That is also unbecoming of a gentlemen," Falon'Din teased Solas.

"If you two are quite done," Deshanna cut in from where she was seated on the floor.

Dirthamen was seated beside her, eyes closed and head bowed. The senior warrior of the clan stood close to the door. It looked as if Sinderon and Bora were the last to arrive.

"Come, sit, both of you," Deshanna suggested. "Or stand like the others." Her gaze swept across the _aravel_.

"I'll be taking a seat, thank you," Bora said as he sat down.

Sinderon nodded silently to the senior warrior, who returned the gesture with equal silence.

Enoa was a woman in her late forties, and was on a short list of people Sinderon would never get into a fight with. Half the clan called her "Drake-Knuckles" because she once beat a drake to death with her bare hands. That altercation gifted her with burns on her arms and scar from claws on her right cheek, but that only made people even less willing to challenge her.

The moment Sinderon and Bora were seated, Dirthamen opened his eyes. "In two weeks we will be at the very edge of Lake Celestine," he informed them. He unfolded a map and placed it before the ground on the floor. "There is a path we can use to get ontop of a small cliff. This is a prime spot for the hunters to take up position. They will be able to pin the cult between the cliff face and the lake." While Dirthamen spoke, he pointed to a location near the tip of Lake Celestine between the cities of Val Firmin and Montsimmard. "Sinderon," he started as he looked at Sinderon.

"Yes?" the hunter asked.

"Your hunters will be in that position. Keep them back from the edge of the cliff until you're signaled to move closer. Deshanna," he started.

"I am staying with the main force," the keeper cut off whatever Dirthamen was going to say.

"Very well, then Solas and Athim will have to be the mages with hunters. Can you work with them, Sinderon?"

"Yes."

"My people will hit the bulk of their forces," said Enoa. "We'll strike where it hurts, and make sure none of them leave pretty."

Dirthamen chuckled, though it was grim chuckle. "Not quite, Enoa, but keep the enthusiasm. You're group will hang back until Athim has had time to signal his people within the cult. The moment they turn on the rest of the group, is when Deshanna will send up a fire to signal the hunters to fire on the cult. You will then, and only then, charge. Understood?" Dirthamen asked, his gaze intense as he looked at Enoa.

"I'm not some hot head."

' _I'd beg to differ,'_ Sinderon thought wryly.

"I know when to hold back. My people will wait for your signal, and then we'll feed them their teeth."

Dirthamen nodded to the warrior. He turned his gaze back on the group. "The moment this happens, we should be able to draw the cult leader away from his forces. This is when Solas and Athim will break off from the hunters. I already spoke with them on what to do in order to keep the cult leader as far from the main fighting as possible. Without their leader, the cult will be relying on only the few higher ups remaining in its ranks. Arla," - Dirthamen turned to the ex-cultist - "I would like you with Enoa's group. Take a few of her warriors and root out the leaders of the cult. Without leaders the battle is all but the clans, no matter the number differences."

"Can do," Arla nodded. "I won't fail."

" _Ma serannas_ , Arla." Dirthamen nodded to her.

"I do hope you have a plan for those who can't fight as well, _Hahren_ ," Deshanna stressed Dirthamen's title within the clan.

"There is no place to hide close to the lake, not even a cave if I recall correctly. The _aravels_ will end up hugging the lake, a mile from the battle." Dirthamen pointed a little towards one of the small rivers feeding into the lake. "Those who can't fight will stay within a few _aravels_ more towards the lake side. This will force any army to have to run through them. The hunters can line the path with traps. Teren, myself, and some old friends of mine will guard the _aravels_ where the People are hiding."

Deshanna scowled. "You will be in one of those _aravels_. You're fighting days should have ended long ago." Her glare was frightening, gaze locked on Dirthamen's.

"Very well, I will hide." Dirthamen gave a small smile.

"I will have Teren tie you down if you don't."

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow. "I don't believe Teren will listen to that order, but understood." He looked towards Solas. Solas gave the slightest of nods as if the look had told him something.

"I'll help support Sinderon and the other archers," said Bora. "It'll be interesting fighting alongside the clan again."

" _Ma serannas_ , Senior Warden Bora." Dirthamen gave Bora a soft smile. There was something almost sad about Dirthamen's smile, however. The last few times he had spoken, his voice had held a subtle note of the sadness. Dirthamen's gaze moved to the door.

The door opened and Healer Teren entered. "Theon passed," his voice was choked, gaze locked on Deshanna and Dirthamen as if they were the only people in the _aravel_.

Sinderon froze, eyes wide. "What?" This couldn't be.

"How?" Enoa demanded.

Deshanna bowed her head. The keeper looked almost lost with the news. Beside her, Dirthamen placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered to her. She nodded and took a deep breath.

"Stop the _aravels_ and gather the clan," she ordered, voice wavering a little. "Theon's path is with Falon'Din now."

Falon'Din shifted behind Deshanna.

" _Fenedhis,_ " Enoa snapped. She stormed passed Teren and out the _aravel_.

Sinderon knew the outburst was not one of anger, but of sadness. The senior warrior may have been a force to reckon with, but she too had grown up on _hahren_ Theon's lessons, and Sinderon knew she cared for him as they all did. To think he was gone, it seemed impossible.

"Can't believe it." Bora shook his head. "I always thought the old man would never die." He sighed. "Damn, I never got to tell him about the ruins near Weishaupt."

"I am sorry for your loss," Arla spoke up, clearly unsure among the grieving elves.

Falon'Din slipped from the _aravel_.

The only others, beside Sinderon, who seemed to notice this were Dirthamen and Solas. Both glanced towards the door. Dirthamen turned back to Deshanna, his dark eyes deep with pain and sorrow. Teren had moved over to them.

Solas, however, glanced around before following Falon'Din from the _aravel_.

' _Where are they going?'_ Sinderon wondered. He slowly got up. "E-excuse me, Keeper, Uncle."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you need," Bora replied, almost in a daze.

Sinderon's chest panged. His uncle was clearly upset as well and may have wanted his presence. However, Sinderon's curiosity won out, and he left the _aravel._ He glanced around trying to see where they could have gone.

He caught a glimpse of Solas's green robes vanishing between two _aravels_. It looked as if he was heading away from the clan.

Sinderon quickly followed trying not to lose sight of the older elf.

Solas caught up with Falon'Din just outside of the where the clan was camped for the night. "Falon'Din, _where are you going_?" The question was spoken in elvish.

"Far enough from the clan they can't see me," Falon'Din retorted then paused. " _Fenedhis las_ ," he spat. "How do you switch so easily between our tongue and this one?"

"Practice. But why are," Solas cut off and sighed. "Dirthamen requested you do this, didn't he?"

"Even if he hadn't I don't have much of a choice," Falon'Din looked around. He lifted his hands. The plain clothes he had been wearing vanished to replaced with a set more suited to who he was in Dalish culture. He knelt down on the ground. "Either leave or be silent, Uncle."

Solas cocked an eyebrow and leaned against one of the trees in the area.

Sinderon crouched behind a tree, doing his best to remain undetected. _'What is he about to do?'_ He questioned. He still was suspicious of Falon'Din, and he wondered if his suspicions were about to be justified.

"I don't care for the Veil you made," Falon'Din muttered. He straightened and pulled the violin case from his back. The moment he touched the bow to the string a strange music filled the air.

Solas let out a low breath, but didn't otherwise speak.

A soft wind pulled at the brush before Falon'Din. It twisted around a point just before Falon'Din. The tune was gentle, almost a peaceful lullaby but not one which was tiring. Somehow the music inspired a freedom within the heart and mind, detached from the body. Falon'Din moved the bow slowly. Each stroke almost painful with the motion. Yet the song remained just as strong as if it had taken to wind.

The bow fell from the violin. Falon'Din collapsed to the ground as the violin followed.

Solas shook his head. "It took more than normal, Falon'Din. Did you finish the ritual at least?"

No response.

Solas moved around where Falon'Din had collapsed. "The Veil was repaired after you finished so I will take that as you did." He then knelt before Falon'Din. "But passing out, really?"

Gathering his resolve, Sinderon emerged from his hiding spot. "What did he just do? Tell me," Sinderon demanded.

Solas looked up, he didn't seem shocked Sinderon had followed them. "I believe Dirthamen requested Falon'Din to help Theon's spirit leave the clan. Falon'Din just did so, though in the past he only did this for animals not for the People. I am assuming he passed out because your _hahren's_ spirit really didn't want to leave." Solas shrugged. "That you will have to ask Falon when he wakes. Only he can see what remains behind of the departed."

"The _hahren's_ spirit?" Sinderon bowed his head. "He-he didn't want to leave?" Of course he didn't. _Hahren_ Theon loved the clan, he'd spent over a century in it. It hurt to think even in death Theon wanted to stay with them, but he couldn't. And now he was really gone… Sinderon's vision grew blurry. No, he wouldn't cry, not in front of Solas. Sinderon did his best to keep his stoic expression, but his eyes were shining.

Solas didn't seem to be paying attention to Sinderon. Instead he pulled out a waterskin and poured water over Falon'Din's masked face.

Falon'Din yelped. He sat bolt up and looked around. There was a moment where he looked utterly confused then he snapped, "Uncle! I wasn't passed out. I was making certain his spirit had crossed because someone made it harder to enter the Fade without being asleep!" He glared at Solas.

"That mumbling said you finished the task awhile ago, Falon." Solas smirked.

"Tch, you're the one who could sleep a day away and you go and pour water on me!"

"Is he where Dirthamen thought his spirit would find rest?" Solas asked.

"Of course," Falon'Din huffed. He twisted his thick braided hair. "You just had to get me wet," Falon'Din complained. "If you got the violin wet," he let the threat hang.

"I didn't get your violin wet."

"Good."

"Wh-where did he go?" His voice choked much to his disdain. "Is he… is he at peace? P-please."

Falon'Din blinked and frowned as he took notice of Sinderon. "He is," he confirmed then looked at Solas. "You let him follow you?"

"He is already aware of what you are."

"A monster?"

"Well, yes, that and an idiot." Solas stood and brushed off his robes.

Falon'Din scowled. "Very funny, Uncle."

"So, you really do guide the dead?" For some reason, the thought of this lightened his heart a little. It would mean his people weren't entirely wrong.

"Err, yes, in the past it was just animals, but I would help the People into _uthenera_." Falon'Din frowned. "There are many spirits which haven't moved on," he whispered. "Most remain hidden except where the Veil is thin." He didn't seem to speaking to them now. His expression was almost pained. "When this is over and you haven't killed me, Uncle, I wish to see them to a better place."

"It will take you centuries to achieve it, Falon'Din." Solas had settled himself on the ground now, his gaze locked on Falon'Din.

"I know. But they have a right to be at peace."

"You should do it," Sinderon said, finally having collected himself.

Falon'Din smiled a sad smile. "I will." He collected his violin. "We should rejoin the clan for the passing of Theon." He sighed. "Dirthamen viewed him as a good friend," he whispered.

"We all did," Sinderon replied. It was more than that though. Theon was a teacher, a voice of reason, a grandfather to the entire clan. He was a constant fixture for the Lavellans, and the idea he was gone still seemed unreal.

Solas stood as well. He moved back towards the clan without a word, arms behind his back.

"Noble wolf indeed," Falon'Din muttered as he watched Solas. He lifted his arms and normal clothes appeared on him.

"Where do they go?" Sinderon asked him.

"Wolves? Hunting generally." He sighed. "I know you mean spirits. All life passes to the Fade."

"And that's it?" Sinderon continued. "What happens then? Do they become spirits of the Fade? Demons? Is there another plane beyond the Fade? What becomes of them?" _'What's become of my parents?'_

Falon'Din chuckled. "My that is a simplistic view of it. Spirits are concepts of the world, born from thoughts and feelings of the People." He paused. "Solas can explain that better. That kind of spirit isn't my area. Spirits of the departed," he stopped and frowned. "Imagine going to your favorite dream. That is the best way I can describe it. Keep in mind the Fade is the place of dreams, anything is possible within it. This means those who have departed are, well, their spirit is now living within their own dreams. They're completely at peace."

"They are at peace." A tension Sinderon didn't realize was there lifted from his frame. " _Ma serannas_ , that is… good to know."

"I'm not sure how helpful it is," Falon'Din stated, "but," he shrugged. He started back towards the camp. "Shall we say farewell to him now?" he asked over his shoulder to Sinderon. "It's important for the living to grieve the departed. Though I imagine it's very different from how we did it in the past."

"Yes, let's," Sinderon nodded. He should be with his clan to help them through their sorrow. "I should go to my _aravel_ , my uncle left a bottle of dwarven ale there. I think he'd want it."

"All right." Falon'Din vanished between the _aravels_.

Sinderon quickly made his way to his _aravel_ and searched for the bottle of ale. He'd been tempted to get rid of it after the splitting headache and nausea he'd earned last time. He was glad he didn't. The hunter remembered putting it in a drawer, and took the bottle with him on his way to the center of camp.

Sorrow was almost palpable. It hung thick in the air as the clan gathered around the keeper and Dirthamen.

"We will mourn Theon's passing this night but, _Hahren_ ," Deshanna almost choked on the world, "Mahvir and I agreed Theon should be laid to rest within Var Bellanaris. Does the clan agree?"

Amidst the tears and cries of disbelief, the clan seemed to agree on laying their former _hahren_ in the ancient burial grounds.

" _Ma serannas_." Keeper Deshanna moved to one side to let others close to where Theon lay, head bowed.

One by one the clan moved forward to say a final farewell to the departed _hahren_.

Sinderon found Bora among the crowd and handed him the drink.

"It's not even my birthday," Bora said with a wet chuckle. The smile on his face was forced and Sinderon could see his own pain in his uncle's eyes. "You'd think after seeing comrades ripped apart by hurlocks or taken by the Calling that this would be easier." The Warden took a large swig from the bottle.

" _Ir abelas,_ " Sinderon said quietly.

Bora cleared his throat. "Nothing to be sorry about, Sindy." He patted the taller elf's shoulder. "Come on, let's say goodbye, all right?"

Sinderon nodded, but as the two got closer, he felt a knot form in his throat. His mind returned to the day of his father's funeral. He knew his father had been killed, but when he actually saw him-

"Hang in there, Sindy." Bora's voice brought him back. "You want any of this?"

"I'm fine." He really wasn't.

There were only a few in front of them now, soon it would be their turn.

"This might seem out of the blue," Bora whispered. "But I just want you to know, I'm sorry I wasn't there when your parents died."

"Uncle-"

Bora silenced him. "I ran away because I was a selfish kid who thought he deserved better. I know I didn't hear about it until months later, but that's no excuse. You and Nimwen needed me back then, and I failed you two, and my brother." A new sadness welled in the older elf's eyes, a kind of regret Sinderon hoped he'd never feel. "I wasn't there, but I am now."

"I know, uncle Bora."

It was their turn now.

He looked like he was asleep. It was the most cliche way to describe it, but it was true. He laid out with his hands folded, surrounded by an array of different flowers.

" _Hahren_." He was never good at this. He never knew what to say, and whatever he came up with never seemed right. " _Ma serannas_ for… everything." Everything was a poor term for it. He considered reaching out, but refrained.

"Hey, old man," Bora said quietly. "I guess I can't really call you that anymore, since I'm kind of one now." Unlike Sinderon, Bora could handle the dead and laid his hand over Theon's folded ones gently. "I just wanted you to know, you meant a lot to us all." He bowed his head. "And I _was_ the one who painted you _aravel_ pink and put ants in the soup." Bora sighed, turning to Sinderon. "I held that in for thirty years. Wish I could have told him to his face."

"He knows, I'm sure," Sinderon replied, ignoring how ridiculous Bora's 'confession' was.

Teren moved in after them. The healer bowed his head. "You were too stubborn sometimes, Theon," whispered the healer. "I hope Falon'Din guides you to a place where you can read all the history you want. The clan will never be the same without you, _ma falon_." Teren moved away.

Sinderon's eyes followed the healer. He knew out of everyone, Theon's passing was going to hit Teren harder. For all their squabbles, the two were true friends.

Deshanna stepped forward. Tradition had always placed the keeper and _hahren_ as the last two to say farewell to the departed. "Nothing will be the same without you, Theon, especially when Teren trades herbs for wine," she gave a choked laugh. "You were the only one who scolded or teased me when I drank too much wine. Your wisdom will be missed, but I will miss your company and counsel far more. _Dareth shiral_ , _Hahren_ Theon." Deshanna kissed Theon's forehead before following Teren.

"It's always the strongest ones who get hurt the most," Bora whispered to Sinderon. "Hope she gets through this."

Sinderon nodded.

The last one to step up was Dirthamen. His dark eyes were filled with sorrow. "You never tired of seeking new knowledge, even as a child you wanted to know everything there was to know about our world and our People's history. The family has lost one of its best, but you are without pain now, my dearest friend." Dirthamen placed his hand on the side of Theon's face. "I will keep my promise to protect the clan you loved so dearly," he whispered. " _Dirthavaren uth, ma falon_." Dirthamen bent and also kissed Theon's forehead. He limped back a pace and raised his face towards the heavens.

Sinderon watched him, his chest tight. He too, was a figure ever present in the Lavellan's memory. To see him reach such melancholy was something akin to seeing a parent cry for the first time. Sinderon looked back at Bora, and he felt the sudden urge for a hug.

"Easy there, big guy," Bora gasped as Sinderon pulled him into a bear hug. "Sindy, I'm being crush here…"

" _Ir abelas._ " Sinderon lessened his grip, but didn't let go. He felt his uncle pat his back.

"Come on, let's go sit down where we aren't blocking people, huh?"

Sinderon nodded. As he followed his uncle, he glanced back at Theon. " _Dareth shiral, hahren_ ," he whispered.

A single voice rose in sorrow filled song above the soft mourning of the clan. The tone familiar from the night Dirthamen had become _hahren_. Others in the clan joined their voices to his. Sinderon found himself, for the first time in a long while, singing. His deep base tone merged with the others in the familiar song:

 _Hahren na melana sahlin_

 _Emma ir abelas_

 _Sourer'inan isala hamin_

 _Vhenan him dor'felas_

 _In uthenera na revas_

 _Vir sulahn'nehn_

 _Vir dirthera_

 _Vir samahl la numin_

 _Vir lath sa'vunin_

The words of the ancient song echoed up, into the still air.

Sinderon bowed his head. It felt like a storm had at last passed, but another could be sensed on the horizon. And he would face it with open arms.

* * *

 _Dirthavaren uth, ma falon_ \- the promise is eternal, my friend

* * *

 **Flame:** Theon is one of my favorite characters (reason he and Teren both make a comeback in my solo fan-fiction). This was painful to write on my part.


	28. Chapter 28

Dirthamen sat within Teren's _aravel_ with Henala and Milliel. The children were around them as were a few others within the clan who didn't hunt or fight. It was painfully obvious Dirthamen was the only young looking man there.

Milliel was sitting beside him. She'd been casting encouraging smiles to the others and joked with the children who said something to her, but there was a notable tenseness to her frame.

"Relax, _ma sulahn'nehn_ ," Dirthamen whispered in her ear. His hand on her shoulder. He knew nothing would happen to her or their children, but his own heart was still uneasy with the worry of the battle to come so close to this _aravel_. With each passing heartbeat Falon'Din delayed longer in the plan which would draw Elgar'nan away from the clan instead of to its heart.

"I know, I know," Milliel said unconvincingly. Sighing, she leaned against Dirthamen's side. "I know I can't, but I feel like I should be out there too. I'm a hunter, not a basket weaver."

"Don't you even _think_ about thinking about leaving this _aravel_ ," Henala warned with a wagging finger. "You should feel grateful that you don't have to go out there."

"Grateful? Mum, I'd want to help, they could use me," Milliel retorted. "Of course I'm not going to leave, I'm not an idiot. I just feel helpless right now when I should be getting yelled at by Drake-Fists instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs."

Dirthamen wrapped his arms around her, one hand on her stomach. He felt one of the little ones press where his hand touched. "I know how you feel, _sulahn'nehn_." He kissed her cheek.

"I'm sorry I made you upset, Milly," Henala apologized. "Even if you weren't pregnant, I still wouldn't want you to be out there. I don't like the thought of you getting hurt, _da'len_. I know you want to help the others, and I'm sorry that I'm glad you're in here."

"It's all right, mum," Milliel sighed. "I'm just on edge right now and I have swollen feet and cankles."

Dirthamen turned his gaze towards the door. Just outside he knew his sentinels were taking positions hidden among the _aravels_ out of sight from the small group with Healer Teren. His sight cut deeper and he could see the cult moving into position. Elgar'nan at the helm of the army. His amber eyes were searching the landscape for a source of powerful magic. The magic Dirthamen knew Solas and Falon'Din would suppress but Lorien and the unborn triplets would give off without them even being mages. The magic of Himinan's bloodline.

He held Milliel a little tighter though the grip was still weak.

"Hey." Milliel's hand brushed his cheek. "We're gonna be fine, don't listen to me."

His heart twisted. For her to be fine, he had to leave now or Elgar'nan would make it to this point. To her, to Lorien, the children, and clan. His family.

"Listen, _ma lath_ , I need to join Teren," he whispered. Only Milliel and Henala were close enough to hear him. "It might seem odd, but the cult leader is heading for the _aravels_."

"What? Why?" Henala gasped quietly.

"To explain will take too long, Lady Henala." Dirthamen held Milliel for a moment longer. "I will return."

"You'd better." Taking his face in her hands, Milliel pulled him into a kiss. "Don't be stupid out there, Onion," she told him.

"I promise I won't be."

" _Ar lath ma_ ," she said.

Dirthamen slipped from Teren's _aravel_ without drawing the attention of the healer or anyone else. He removed the tattered robe, to reveal the cleaner set which covered his ancient armor crafted from him by June. He tugged up the hood and moved a cloth so it hid his mouth.

A mile away, Elgar'nan had spotted where the clan was camped. Falon'Din hadn't moved fast enough to distract his father from the _aravels_. He would be coming for Lorien. There was no getting around this now

Dirthamen limped through the line of hunters, passing as a shadow between.

"What the?" Teren turned as if sensing Dirthamen's presence. He blinked.

Dirthamen stopped before the line of the first trapped _aravels._ The cane fell to the ground as he drew his daggers. The ironbark blades crackled with the runes of ancient magic. Dirthamen twisted the the blades around, feeling their familiar weight and perfect balance in his hands. He placed all his weight onto his good leg, bracing his body through time itself for the initial strike by Elgar'nan.

Just beyond the _aravels_ , flames flared bright against even the sun. The traps were rent apart, the protective magic around the _aravels_ saving them from following the fate of the traps. Each trap slowed Elgar'nan's fiery approach by mere seconds.

" _Fear, be ready_ ," Dirthamen thought to the demon.

The black raven flapped overhead. Fear circled over Dirthamen's position.

Heat washed over Dirthamen. " _Now_!"

Fear dropped from the sky moments before the heat of the flames became a reality. Agony raced through Dirthamen's back as his muscles ripped and grew. Wings burst from the back of his armor and robes through lines placed there by June countless centuries ago. He felt the armor shift, changing under the robes to accommodate a Demon of Fear. His hair tumbled down his back, feather moving into to mimic the look of a Demon of Fear. Pain fled Dirthamen's bad leg. His lungs expanded with ease. Strength flowed through his body as his foresight and time magic were suppressed behind Fear's power.

A barrier expanded before Dirthamen, wrapping around the _aravels_ which held the people. Flames slammed into the barrier. The heat intense as the fire was directed around the clan.

"Dirthamen!" Elgar'nan shrieked his named in rage. The fire twisted and eased back. A familiar figure moved through it his eyes glittering in the light of the fire. Elgar'nan drew his sword from its sheath. Flames flickered over the ancient ironbark blade.

Dirthamen steadied his stance. His wings shifted on his back. He was ready to fly but he wouldn't let Elgar'nan closer to the People. " _You won't harm any more of the People_ ," Dirthamen replied in a smooth voice.

Flames whipped out before Elgar'nan.

Pain lanced through Dirthamen. His daggers clashed against the shield. His wings flared out as Fear screamed in his head.

"Weakling," Elgar'nan hissed. His breath foul on Dirtahmen's face.

Elgar'nan pressed Dirthamen back.

Dirthamen flared his wings further. A beat sent him forward a pace. He fought back with his wings and legs straining against flame and strength. All the while he started to beat on Elgar'nan's mental defenses, fighting to use Fear's power against Elgar'nan. It wasn't something he had ever managed to achieve before. Dirthamen knew Elgar'nan felt only rage, still, there had be a small piece of the man which could still feel fear.

Elgar'nan leapt back. Flames seared around Dirthamen, so hot they scorched the ground. The flames turned blue.

A barrier flew around Teren's group, only just directing the flames away from the healer.

Raw agony shot through Dirthamen. He screeched as Elgar'nan rammed into him. Fear echoed his pain with a cry of his own.

Dust and flame whipped into the air as Dirthamen beat his wings. He wasn't strong enough with Fear alone. He couldn't keep the clan safe, not without his foresight and time magic. He was blind and Elgar'nan knew it.

A scream of rage filled the air. Elgar'nan charged around Dirthamen, flames lending him speed.

" _No_!" Dirthamen screamed as he flew after Elgar'nan. He had to stop him before he reached the _aravel_ before he reached Milliel and Lorien.

Flames raced towards Teren's group. The healer had staggered back in shock as Elgar'nan appeared through the dust, followed close by Dirthamen.

The flames burst away from the healer moments before it would have reduced him to ash.

Dirthamen back winged in time to avoid slamming into Falon'Din who had appeared as if from thin air. " _You're both late_ ," Dirthamen stated.

Solas stood before Teren, his hand raised. It had been Solas who had created the barrier this time. His pale eyes blazed with rage and the light of the flame. He now wore the wolf's cowl.

Elgar'nan straightened, laughing. "If it isn't my treacherous son and brother." He licked his lips. "I'll enjoy gutting you and forcing you to watch that precious child of yours bleed out."

Solas snarled. The next moment, a massive white wolf leapt at Elgar'nan.

"Solas, _direct him away from the clan_!" Dirthamen shouted at his father. "Falon, _with me, we should be able to block his progress from here_."

His brother nodded. Their magic wove together, creating a barrier around the clan which started to expand outward.

Elgar'nan tossed Solas aside, sending flames after him. He spat blood, enraged as he moved back from the barrier. "I'll dance your dance then, _weakling_." He jumped back. A spray of flames rose around the barrier. The light grew in intensity.

Dirthamen flew higher, trying to cast a shadow over Teren and the hunters. "Atisha, _now_!"

Arrow pelted Elgar'nan from behind.

Elgar'nan spat again. Flames burned the arrows to ash. He retreated from the clan. Flames engulfed Elgar'nan. It was a sign Elgar'nan was running to come at the _aravel_ from the direction of the lake itself.

Solas turned back to an elvhen. "Falon, with me." He raced after Elgar'nan. "Dirthamen, head over the lake!"

Dirthamen flew higher. He twisted in the air and shot off to cut off Elgar'nan's next attack. " _Deceit, stay close to us, I am going to need you as well in a second._ "

" _How about now? Why should the oaf get all the fun_?"

" _Because I give him wings_ ," Fear retorted, though it was a pained retort. " _We will need her soon, Dirthamen. You're body is too bad now for me to handle long on my own._ "

Dirthamen could feel the weight of the wings growing on his back. No matter how long he wanted to delay activating the power to the next level, Fear was right. There was only so long either demon could handle him on their own. The ideal would have been to over the center of the lake and have Deceit fuse with him right when Elgar'nan hit.

" _That's not going to happen_ ," Fear snapped.

Dirthamen was slowing. He could see the steam rising in the distance where Elgar'nan formed lava at his feet, cooling the moment it touched water and dissolving behind him to form a fast path across the lake. The man had further to go to get there, but his speed he would reach the lake's center long before Dirthamen did. This risked the clan being caught in the aftershocks of a full battle between the four of them.

" _Dirthamen_!" Fear shrieked.

" _Deceit, to me_."

A white blur dove from above. Power surged through Dirthamen as her energy was added to Fear's. Water raced up around as he across the surface as an arrow. Lightning crackled over one dagger. Ice raced over the other turning it to a sword.

" _Oh, you don't activate your full power_?" Deceit huffed in Dirthamen's mind. " _I wanted to feel in pain, not alive, Dirthy._ "

" _No_ ," Dirthamen retorted to her.

" _No, I wasn't asking for it. I love pain, honest_."

Fear snapped back in annoyance.

" _Quiet both of you_."

The steam cloud was almost on top of Dirthamen now. He dove down. Dirthamen twisted moments before hitting the molten earth. It cracked under him but he had managed to land before Elgar'nan.

Ice raced through the air as Dirthamen lunged at Elgar'nan.

Elgar'nan's eyes widened. The ground hardened under them as Elgar'nan leapt back. His shield flew up. Ice shattered as the blade struck it, sending steam racing up from the heated shield.

The blade repaired as Dirthamen drew it back. He leapt after Elgar'nan. Lightning hissed passed Elgar'nan's neck as he barely dodged.

Dirthamen flipped up into the air, using his wings to twist. Strands of golden hair fell towards the still forming rock. It caught fire and vanished before the strands would hit the ground.

Dirthamen landed, crouched and tense. He was ready to strike again.

A battle cry rose from over Dirthamen. Heat filled the air as metal hummed over Dirthamen's head. The scythe flashed, lightning racing from the blade. A hum came from Falon'Din, thrumming with the sound of a tune. The magic reacted, strengthening.

Fire wrapped around Elgar'nan in a barrier.

Dirthamen thrust out his lightning dagger. The water rushed up around as the lightning and flame collided in torrent of power.

Falon'Din landed. He danced, twisting the scythe around him in a beautiful display. Each stroke lightning or ice flew from the tip, growing in strength as he hummed out a tune of battle.

Dirthamen joined his brother. He dove down at Elgar'nan from above, his dagger and sword flashing with each change in Falon'Din's magic.

Explosions filled the air. Water rose in great waves around the island forming under Elgar'nan's feet. The waves raced out in every direction towards the shore. Any looking out over the lake would see a great smoke cloud flashing in a brilliant storm of lights.

The ground ruptured under them and repaired. Yet, each strike was parried as if it were a toy blade. A child's strike. Elgar'nan stood his ground, laughing at their attempts.

Lava gushed from the ground.

Dirthamen flew up. Ice raced from his sword, even as Falon'Din swept his scythe around. The scythe struck stone. Massive rocks flew out across the lake.

The air popped, pressure increasing as the Veil warped. Dirthamen dove for the ground. He landed behind his brother as Falon'Din drove his scythe down.

A massive pull of the rift formed around Elgar'nan. The waves reversed. A dome of water formed around them, blanketing the sky.

Dirthamen formed a barrier around himself and his brother. His wings folded tight to his back.

The sky was rent. Massive stones were summoned forth from the Fade, each blazing as they hailed down upon the Lake.

Lava raced up around Elgar'nan as he threw his arms into the air. Stone and water crashed down upon him.

Dirthamen launched into the air. Water rushed over Falon'Din. Steam blasted out, burning eyes and exposed skin. Dirthamen hissed in pain, his arm flying over his face in a barrier against the steam. Through watering eyes, he could just make out the shell which had formed around Elgar'nan.

Water receded into the lake. It rushed out and would gain strength the closer it came to the shore. Solas stood before Falon'Din now. His eyes gave off the faintest hints of green-yellow colors of the Fade.

Falon'Din coughed up water. He staggered to his feet, wrenching his scythe from the floating landmass. "Did we get him?" He painted, still coughing from the water.

Dirthamen didn't land, his gaze on the orb. There was no way it was over yet. It had been too easy.

 _Crack_! The sound thrummed through the air. Heat gathered around the center of orb in the form of a figure.

"Of course not," Falon'Din muttered. He hefted his scythe.

Shards of stone exploded out. In the center Elgar'nan stood, his head bowed and shoulders shaking. He was laughing. "Is that all you can muster?" He looked towards them, eyes glowing as embers in the dust around them. "After being awake for almost four years, truly pathetic, brother. And you," - he turned his gaze on Dirthamen - "you little weakling, I expected such strength from you after twenty centuries. I over estimated what power a bastard would have."

Mana crackled around Elgar'nan, visible as sparks of flame through the air. Flames engulfed his form. His body transforming to pure flame. At first his body was white in color, it shifted to yellow, then orange, slowly turned purple and finally blue. His steps melted the ground. Water hissed up turning solid at his feet once more. If it had been sand, glass would have formed and shattered at his steps.

Unease caused Dirthamen's neck hair to prickle. The air wavered with the raw heat. Fire dripped from the tips of Elgar'nan's fingers.

" _Dirthamen, stop holding back_!" Fear shrieked in Dirthamen's mind. The demons were growing fearful of Elgar'nan's presence.

Elgar'nan's sword moved towards the ground. It trailed embers, raw flame dripped from the tip. "Truly pathetic," Elgar'nan jerred, his voice cracked like wood within a fire, echoing the power now contained in his form.

Horror raced through Dirthamen.

Elgar'nan lifted his sword as if in slow motion.

He knew what future this was.

Elgar'nan whipped the out and lashed it towards the shore. The power of the blast sent Solas and Falon'Din to the ground. Dirthamen twisted through the air.

" _No_!" He forced his wings to beat against the blast. His eyes burned. "Milliel!" Power surged through Dirthamen. He heard the pleasure from the demons. Felt as barrier around time itself was released. He shot forward. His eyes locked on the energy, though slowed, it sliced through air faster than light.

He could see the shore through his returned foresight, knew the people had moved from the _aravel_ during the battle. He could see Milliel and Henala and Lorien. Teren. All of them. No!

Each beat of his wings sent winds racing out in normal time. The water was ripped up from the lake. He overtook Elgar'nan's attack.

Dirthamen turned as he neared the shore. A barrier formed, wrapping around the attack Elgar'nan had unleashed. Between this, he managed to pull Solas and Falon'Din from the normal time flow. They were racing across the bridge the attack had formed.

Dirthamen was blasted back. He had to stop it. Dirthamen shrieked as he unleashed his full power. The attack froze in time.

" _Take it back_!"

The attack was launched back through time towards Elgar'nan.

Solas and Falon'Din leapt into the water just in time to avoid being struck.

The air thrummed as flames exploded out over the lake. Elgar'nan had blocked the time manipulated strike.

"Solas, Falon'Din, _protect the People_ ," Dirthamen shouted down to them. "Elgar'nan _is mine_!"

Dirthamen shot back towards Elgar'nan, screaming in rage. No one. _No one_ , harmed his family!

"Dirthamen!" Solas shouted. The word were lost on the wind.

This was a battle between him and Elgar'nan now. Solas and Falon'Din would only get in the way.

*~ X ~*

Her husband had wings.

When the lights flashed over the lake, those in the _aravel_ came out to see what was happening. A foolish move, really, but curiosity often outweighed logic.

Her husband had wings.

Milliel stared out over the lake. She'd forgotten the pain in her swollen feet as she stood there, eyes transfixed on the scene before her.

Her husband had wings. His hair somehow grew longer, and he was cloaked in shadowy robes and armor even finer than what he wore on their bonding day. She watched as he flew above the lake and watched when he sent the wave of fire back from whence it came.

" _Solas, Falon'Din, protect the People,"_ she heard him shout. _"Elgar'nan is mine!"_

' _It's really him.'_ She thought to herself. He truly was an onion. Just when she thought she understood him completely, another layer was peeled back, reminding her that there was far more to Mahvir than she would ever understand.

"Your father has wings," she said to her children, dazed.

"Why are you standing there?!"

Milliel turned to see her mother tugging on her arm. "Look, mum, he has wings."

"Milliel, come on, it's not safe," a hysterical Henala begged.

Falon'Din exploded out from the water in a great wave which rose up from the fighting. He twisted in the air, using his scythe and landed before them. The water hit an invisible force.

"Girl my brother mated with, move!"

Solas walked from the wave trailing water. "Falon'Din," he scolded. "Honestly." He turned and the water was thrown back into the lake.

"What?"

"Her name is Milliel," Solas stated.

"Yeah, so? We're currently reduced to glorified barriers while Dirthamen is out there fighting Elgar'nan. _Elgar'nan_ ," he repeated the name slowly. "Forgive me for wanting to scream at something. Better yet, I'll scream you. You're the reason I'm so weak and had a twenty century long tormenting nap!" He spat in rage.

"Oh, yes, all my fault. You do realize I am also not much aid in the fighting now either, correct?" Solas asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Enough!" Henala, of all people, snapped. "I don't know what's happening, but this is no time to argue amongst ourselves."

Milliel felt her arm tugged again. "Milly, sweetie let's go."

The huntress snapped from her stupor, returned to the urgency of the situation. "Right, what should we do?"

Solas and Falon'Din exchanged looks. "Honestly, this is the safest spot to stand considering Uncle and I are being glorified barriers right now," Falon'Din stated. "No matter how over powered my so called father is, his attacks can't penetrate this barrier."

"If Vivienne was here I would be getting an ear full of how we're front loading a barrier," Solas muttered.

"S-so we're fine, right?" Henala asked, unsure. "Because, because I don't really feel fine."

Solas sighed. "That tends to happen with my brother so close. Yes, you are the safest right behind the barrier." He turned his gaze back towards the lake.

Near the lake's center bright flashes filled the air. Some close to the lake's surface others high in the sky. Most happened two or three at a time.

"So much for it needing all three of us," Falon'Din muttered.

"It's a stalemate," Solas replied.

"But we would just get in Dirth's way," Falon'Din growled. "I hate being useless! I should be at Dirth's side. _Fenedhis_ to sleeping twenty centuries draining all my power! To Elgar'nan for draining it more!"

"You still complain all the time I see."

"You're still a grouch, I see."

"Give him a break, Solas," Milliel said. "I know how it feels, I wish I could be doing something right now as well. It's a terrible feeling know you _could_ be doing something but you're not."

Both Solas and Falon'Din looked at her and blinked. "No offense," Falon'Din started, "but I think you would be ash if you tried to help Dirth right now."

 _Whack_ \- Solas hit Falon'Din with his staff. "That wasn't what she meant, Falon. She is talking about the other battle."

"Right, I knew that." Falon'Din rubbed his head.

Solas looked at him.

"I knew that!" Falon'Din defended himself.

Solas shook his head.

"That's right, oh I hope the others are okay," Henala worried. "This is madness, just madness the lot of it."

"I know," Milliel sighed. She turned to the lake once more. "Please be all right," she whispered.

The lights were popping in the distance still. Waves lashed at the lake shore.

Solas stiffened. "Blood," he stated.

"Pardon, Uncle?"

"Nimwen!" Solas turned. In the blink of an eye he shifted into a white wolf and bounded off across the shore.

"Really?!" Falon'Din shouted. He grumbled and turned to Milliel and Henala. "I'm going to bring you two with me. There is still a barrier here, but it will be weaker and Dirthamen will kill me if I let anything happen to either of you."

"He said Nimwen's hurt?!" The worst scenarios flashed in Milliel's head as her heart sped up with worry for her friend.

Falon'Din blinked. He hesitated then said, "Do me a favor, hold to one another, you'll be easier to carry that way."

"Carry?" Henala squawked.

Milliel didn't hesitate to grab her mother. "Come on," she told Falon'Din.

He smiled from under the skull mask. An invisible force wrapped around them as he leapt into the air. A beautiful barn owl appeared in the air. The ground moved from under Milliel and her mother. From the small height they gained Milliel could just make out a wagon stopped under a mile from where the clan was camped, it was closer to the clan than the battle, but the battle could be seen just beyond it.

* * *

 **Flame:** This was a fun chapter to write. I loved writing the battle between the three creators.


	29. Chapter 29

"Faster, Inan," Nimwen yelled. "We need to get there _now_."

They'd just neared Lake Celestine when they heard the sound of fighting. Dread creeped over Nimwen's spine as she realized her clan was in danger.

"Oh, no, I'm not taking you to the battle," Inan called over the wind. "The rest of the clan is a mile out, near the lake. That's where I'm taking you."

"Are you serious- urgh, _fine_!" Nimwen snapped. She wasn't in the mood for arguments, even if she wanted to. She could protect the clan by being with them, and that would have to suffice.

"Inan," Butter hissed, her ears pinned back.

"I know," Inan retorted. "Nimwen, start focusing on your breathing. This stress is only going to make matters worse."

"I'm fine," Nimwen grumbled. The cart rolled over a dip in the ground, the sudden jolt making her wince. She'd been having false contractions for a week now. They were her least favorite part of being pregnant, and the uneven ground was not helping matters. A particularly strong one made her grunt. "Would you calm down?" She glared at her stomach, as if she could will her body to cease the unnecessary pain.

Butter was moving around Nimwen. The spirit sniffed Nimwen with each little pace she made. Her nose touching Nimwen's stomach from time to time. Then she pressed her paw down as if feeling the contractions.

Her ears pinned back. "Inan, they're too close!" Butter called.

"Who, the attackers?" Nimwen asked. She formed ice in her hands, readying herself for a fight.

Butter hissed in annoyance. "The contractions!"

"We're nearly to the landships," Inan protested.

"Inan!"

"Butter, relax, they're just false contractions," Nimwen told the spirit.

Butter hissed again. "Feel, Nimwen. They're not at odd intervals. This is far from false." Her ears flicked back, paw still on Nimwen's side. "Inan!"

"Butter, you're being-" Nimwen's stopped a contraction far worse than the rest hit her like a druffalo. She doubled over, hissing through her teeth as she rode through the pain. " _Fenedhis_ ," she groaned. "I-I think I'm in labor!"

Butter purred. "You have been for awhile now." She turned her head. "Inan, now!"

The wagon slowed. It stayed at a slower pace. Before the horse had fully stopped, Inan rushed through the flaps. "Butter, get the water heated," he ordered.

"Finally." The cat slipped away from Nimwen.

"Relax, Nimwen. Focus on your breathing," Inan instructed her as he removed his cape.

"No, no, no, why is it now, why couldn't it wait?" Nimwen shook her head. Nimwen felt her heart pounding as the realization hit her. This was it, it was time. Amidst her panic, she forced herself to act. First and foremost she removed her smallclothes. "How close am I?" She asked as she piled blankets and pillows behind her back.

"You're water will break shortly," Inan replied as he knelt beside Nimwen.

"Here's the first of the water, Inan." Butter padded back into the supplies. She pulled out the blankets and other supplies which would be needed during the birthing. She dunked a cloth into the bowl of water. "I'll get another bowl ready for cleaning the first child."

"My thanks, Butter." Inan smiled at Butter. He worked on the cloth. "Focus on keeping your breathing even and deep. I would like you as calm as possible before your water breaks."

"Calm, got it," Nimwen chuckled, trying to remain humorous as opposed to panic.

Her first experience giving birth was nothing less than terrifying. It didn't help that her water broke right in the middle of a meeting in the war room. Her inexperience made every moment all the more fear inducing, but she at least had the fortune of a healer, the presents of her friends, and an entire fortress around her during the most vulnerable time in her life. Now, she was stuck in a wagon in the middle of the countryside with a battle raging in the distance. No matter, she was determined not to fall into hysterics, which would help nobody. As she concentrated on keeping her breaths steady, she gasped at the sudden wetness between her legs.

"I-Inan!" She warned him.

Inan's hand was warm on her stomach. The soft golden light was almost soothing. "The first will be soon," he muttered more to himself than Nimwen. The soft golden light passed over her stomach. "Butter, the water," his voice was calm, almost soothing.

Inan leaned over. The next moment Nimen felt a cool cloth on her face. She could feel the softness of fur as well which pointed to it being Butter dabbing the sweat from her.

"S-soon? You said soon-?" Nimwen cried out as another contraction hit. It felt like she was being stabbed _with_ fire. "Fuck!" How she forgot about the pain the first time, she had no idea. She worked to level her breathing as she rode through the contraction.

"Breath." There was calmness to Inan. The light seemed to ease back some of the pain. "And push," Inan instructed. "It's time."

Nimwen was only able to nod. She braced herself and pushed, her screams loud enough to hurt her own ears. It felt like she was being torn apart, and the pain wouldn't stop. By the time she stopped the first push she was panting, wishing for all the world that it could be over. Her hands groped for something to hold onto, but she found nothing. With Lori, Dorian had been at her side, holding her hand even when she broke it; and outside the room she knew the rest of her companions were waiting, supporting her with their presence.

The sudden wave of loneliness caused more tears to stream from her eyes. "Solas," she whimpered.

"Hush, child. I am certain he will be here." Inan paused. "Now," Inan whispered.

The pain was unbearable. Nimwen screamed, seeing white behind her eyelids. And then it was gone. The pressure eased in an instant and the cries of a baby filled the wagon. Nimwen felt like she'd entered another world. The world around her felt slowed, distant, as if she were underwater. All sounds were dampened save for the sound of her baby's cries. Only one thought inhabited her head. Fen.

The soft sound of paws hitting wood came as a green light filled the space.

"Nimwen!"

Exhausted and feeling like she couldn't breathe, the still dazed woman turned her head. "S-Sol…?" A tired smile fought for place on her lips.

The feeling of his hand in hers came followed the wolf cowl he was wearing coming off. "Nimwen." He was breathing hard as if he had just run here. He blinked when he saw Butter. "You're the spirit of faith from-"

"Yes, focus on your mate."

"Butter, more water," Inan instructed the spirit. "The second boy is going to take sometime. I will try to sooth numb the pain as much as I can, Nimwen." Inan seemed completely focused on the task at hand.

"Wh-where is he?" Nimwen forced her voice to return. Her son had stopped crying, but she'd yet to see him. " _M-ma Fen_?"

"He's here." Inan placed the baby boy beside Nimwen. He was wrapped in one of the soft blankets Inan had picked up in a town they'd passed through.

Nimwen stared in awe. Here he was. No longer a dream, nor a vision from Inan. He was here, her son. She lifted a trembling hand and stroked his tiny arm. His skin felt so soft, delicate. "Look, _vhenan_." She looked up at Solas, smiling like a fool. "H-he's so b-beautiful."

A tear slid down Solas's face. He removed some of the armor he was wearing and move so the fur was beside him. "You both are, _vhenan_ ," he whispered.

Outside the sound someone landing came. " _Fenedhis_ , that was a lot of power which hit the world," a familiar voice muttered. "You two enter. Elgar'nan would have felt that."

Nimwen's eyes widened as terror filled her. "N-no!" She pulled Fen towards her, determined to protect him. "H-he's here," she warned Solas.

" _Vhenan_ , it's all right," Solas assured her. He then called. "Falon'Din, move to the head of the wagon. Warn us if Elgar'nan is coming."

"I'm not stupid, Uncle."

"Comparatively speaking," Solas started with a laugh.

"Fine. Compare me to Dirth." She could still hear him even as his voice softened. "You two really need to get into the wagon. Uncle's going to have to stay with Nimwen and I can't split in two."

Nimwen looked back and forth between Solas and Inan, shock on her face as she tried to understand what was going on. She was torn between pain, joy at holding her son for the first time, and complete confusion. "Solas, what's-" Stabbing agony ripped a scream from her as she arched her back in pain.

Solas's grip tightened a little in her hand.

The pain eased back as the light from Inan's hand increased. "Focus on breathing, Nimwen."

"Up you go," Falon'Din grunted from outside. "I trust you can get in just fine, Henala." The next sound was someone racing around the wagon.

"Creators, Nim!"

"M-Milliel?" Nimwen must have been seeing things. "Y-you're…"

"Yes, I'm here, _lethallan_." Milliel knelt beside her, looking at her with concern. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Y-you're really here. Y-you all are." Nimwen started to cry, emotionally overwhelmed.

"I swear it wasn't me!" Inan joked.

Butter snorted. "More water has been heated, Inan."

"Oh, thank you, Butter." A bowl was passed over Nimwen. "If you wouldn't mind, Solas?"

Solas cocked an eyebrow but didn't argue. The feeling of a wet cloth returned to Nimwen's forehead.

Nimwen sighed in relief, only to cry out as more pain washed over her. Her yells made Fen start to cry again.

"Dear, let me hold him." Nimwen _had_ to be seeing things, because she was certain she heard Henala speak. She felt somebody try to lift Fen from her arms, and even with the contractions she instinctively held onto her baby.

"Nimwen," Inan's voice was soft. The golden light moved around her arms, easing her muscles. "If you hold him while giving birth, it will kill him."

The mere thought of that sent horror through her head, and she ended up allowing her son to be handed off. The pain grew stronger like a growing fire and she grasped Solas' arm in her silverite hand. "Hurts!" She sobbed. Nimwen fought to control her breathing, but it felt like she was drowning. "S-Solas I, I c-can't-" More pain followed and she felt like she was being undone.

The golden light wrapped around her. The pain eased back. "I won't let you or Fennir go," Inan told her. "Breath, focus on Solas and breath, Nimwen. The little one is almost ready to join the world."

" _M-ma vhenan_." Nimwen forced her eyes open and looked up at Solas. "I-I'm scared," she confessed.

"You'll be fine," Solas assured her, his hand warm on her face. "I won't leave you."

Light exploded around the wagon. It flickered up over them then vanished in a wave golden light which filled the space. All sound from outside was dampened, though she could only just make out the distant calls between Falon'Din and what sounded to be Mahvir's elvish.

"What's going on?" She heard Henala gasp.

The light increased until even the distant shouting vanished. "My apologies for the brightness," Inan whispered. "My lady, please remain close to me. I can't dampen sound, ease pain, and make a barrier. It's up to Dirth and Falon for keeping the protection up." He turned his gaze to Nimwen. "Nimwen, be ready to push when I tell you."

Nimwen nodded, grasping Solas' hand in hers. "I love you," she whispered to him.

"You and our children are my world," Solas whispered in response. He gave her a soft smile, though tears still streaked his face.

"Push," Inan ordered.

Holding tight to Solas's hand, Nimwen bore down and pushed. The intense pressure made her screech, an animalistic noise that surprised even herself.

"You're doing great, Nim," she heard Milliel say.

The brightest light followed down Nimwen's stomach. Soon the cries of another baby filled the air.

"Butter?"

"I got the blanket," the spirit replied.

"My thanks." Inan turned to Nimwen. "He's fine," he told her and smiled. "As are you. And you doubted I would keep you three alive, shame on you." He wagged his finger at her.

Nimwen didn't respond to the joke, eyes transfixed to the sight of the baby being cleaned and swaddled. The same joy brought by Fen filled her once more as tears of joy and exhaustion filled her. She turned to Solas. She was still panting, unable to speak, but she hoped he could see the emotions playing out in her eyes as she smiled at him.

Solas grinned at her, actually grinned. His eyes still misted with fresh tears.

"Here you are," Inan passed Solas Fennir. "My lady," - he turned to Henala - "I do believe Nimwen is strong enough to hold him now."

"Here he is, dear."

Whatever vestiges of energy Nimwen had left in her welled to the surface as she reached out to take the baby from Henala. Her emotions were indescribable as she stared down at her son's face, still ruddy and wrinkled. She let out a choked laugh as she stroked the soft patch of dark hair atop his head. She looked over at Solas and Fennir in his arms, the sight making her cry.

Inan stood. "Butter, can you watch them?" Inan asked. "Make certain nothing happens so soon after birth."

Butter purred. "I know what to look for, Inan. Go."

Inan nodded. He removed the shackles from his ankles. The golden light wrapped around his body, turning to the robes he wore in the Fade.

"Maker!" Henala gasped.

"Wh-what are you?" Milliel stammered.

Inan blinked at them. "I am elvhen. I think. Butter?"

"You're elf and not an elf."

"That's not helpful!" Inan grumbled.

"Go take care of you eldest son."

"I was getting there." Inan leapt out of the wagon. The light wrapped around his shoulders and he leapt into the air.

Nimwen was idly focused on the others, feeling her strength slowly fading. "He's beautiful," she whispered, stroking Fennir's cheek with her finger. "You took a while, huh, _da'len_?" she asked with a sleepy smile.

Solas shifted. With one hand he moved her up so she was resting against him.

"What the heck?!" Falon'Din's shout came from outside. "Inan!" he snapped.

"Dirth, come with me!" Inan called.

" _All right,_ " Mahvir paused, " _grandfather_."

"You, you just completely ignored me," Falon'Din huffed. "Wait, what?"

Nimwen tensed at the sound of his voice. "Solas?" Mahvir was here too? Everything was confusing, and her mind felt like a foggy swamp.

"Dirthamen just said." Solas's eyes were wide. "But he was killed by the Forgotten?"

"He wasn't," Nimwen replied, voice slurred. "He s-saved us… good grandfather…"

Nimwen felt a tear hit her face. Solas held to her, his head on her shoulder.

" _Ma vhenan._ " Nimwen leaned closer to him. " _Banal abelas._ Thi-this is a happy time, r-right?" It was getting harder to stay awake, but she wasn't ready to go out just yet. "I-I thought we c-could name them Fen and… and Fennir," she murmured. "Is-is that all right? I thought they could be…"

"It's perfect," Solas whispered. He kissed her. "Get some rest, _vhenan_."

"F-fight?" No, she couldn't sleep, not with everything else going on.

"You don't have the strength, _vhenan_."

"You need rest, dear," Henala spoke up. "You'll need your strength if you're going to deal with the little ones."

"W-what if… hungry?" Yet another reason she couldn't sleep just yet.

"They aren't awake right now," Milliel said. "Please, _lethallan_ , you don't have to push yourself anymore. Relax, we've got you."

"You're safe now, _ma vhenan_." Solas held her a little tighter in one arm.

Safe. She was finally safe. After months of imprisonment and uncertainty, she was finally amongst her family again. She was safe. The seemingly unending tears returned as she burrowed closer to Solas, drinking in his presence after so long. "I-I missed you," she stammered. "I missed you so much, Solas. I s-spent so long there, I never thought I'd leave I…"

"Hush, rest, _ma vhenan_ , we can talk when you wake." Solas soothed her.

"P-please don't be a dream," Nimwen murmured. Every blink felt heavier, the effort to opening her eyes growing. "Please… Solas. Be real…"

Solas hugged her again. "I promise, this time I am not a dream or in your dream."

Nimwen nodded numbly. She mumbled incoherently as she finally succumbed to her exhaustion. The last thing she thought, was that she hoped what Solas said was true.

*~ X ~*

Inan shot across the ground, his grandson kept pace with him. Dirth's wing beats strong and time moving around him in a nonlinear flow. It was the first time Inan had met Dirth and yet Dirth had known in an instant who he was. Inan wanted to smile but right then he had to get Nan away from the people and stop the cult before they killed more of the clan.

"Dirth," he called.

" _I know_." Dirth vanished. He would reappear on the far side of Nan.

Nan was standing on a molten ground. He was moving slower because his feet stuck to the ground in this form. His pace taking him towards the _aravels_ and little Lori.

"Nan!" Inan shouted just as he saw Dirth's shadow in position.

Nan stopped. His gaze of embers widened and he turned to face Inan. "You!" He growled.

"Behind you!" Inan laughed.

Flames leapt up around Nan to guard against an attack which didn't come. Time slowed the flames until Nan's movement stopped. It didn't touch Inan, his grandson's abilities passed through him with no effect.

"Thank you, Dirth."

Dirth nodded. Again his grandson didn't seem shocked that Inan wasn't affected by his power.

Inan wove a netting of light into the air above Nan. He placed magic within the net which would forcibly sunder one from the Fade. It would last only just long enough for Inan to do what was needed.

The net fell over Nan the moment Dirth released the magic.

A scream of rage tore from Nan. He collapsed under the weight of the net. Steam rose from his body as the fire ebbed away. He writhed against the molten ground. His fires burning him for the first time in his life.

"I'm so sorry, Nan," Inan whispered as he knelt before his eldest. He reached out to heal the wounds.

"Don't touch me, you old fool!" Nan spat at Inan. His eyes, the same color as Nalas's, burned with an unyielding rage. A rage Inan knew would never had shown in his dearest love's beautiful gaze.

Inan withdrew his hand. His heart wrenched as he watched the burns grow on his son's flesh. "Nan," he choked.

Nan spat in rage at Inan. "Weakling," he hissed when Dirth landed beside Inan. "Came here, I'll tear you to shreds. Bastard son of Mythal." He fought against the netting.

" _He will never listen, Grandfather_ ," Dirth stated. " _No matter what your heart longs for_." Dirth's hand touched Inan's shoulder.

Inan stiffened, bracing himself for Dirth's scream of pain. It never came. Inan relaxed a little. "He has to go back to the black city?" His heart twisted. Nan would only hurt more if he remained free, but it didn't make any easier.

" _I will go with you_." Dirth moved from Inan's side. He picked up part of the net and nodded to Inan.

Inan moved around to the other as he finished weaving the net so it would hold Nan. " _You have my thanks_ ," Inan paused, " _Grandson_."

There was no smile on Dirth's face at being called this. Only sorrow at the task yet ahead of them. Dirth's wings beat against the air as Inan leapt up. The Veil weakened and vanished around them. He placed them close to the Black City, but not touching. The dark energy here pulled at Inan's light. Dirth hissed beside him, his wingbeats speed up through time.

As one, he and Dirth released the net.

"You're all dead!" Nan screeched. He fell through the Fade into the darkness of the city.

Pain shot through Inan's heart as he watch his son struggle and fight against the pull the city. Nan spat at them, shouting threats until his head vanished into shadow. The poison of the city wrapped around his clawing hands, until they were gone.

Tears slid from Inan's eyes. He had never wanted this life for Nan.

Dirth fell, his wings strained against the pull.

Gold light wrapped around his grandson. He would never let another of his family fall to that fate. Dirth would have a happy life. "Let's return." Inan pulled Dirth with him back through the Veil to the place they had left.

" _My thanks_ ," Dirth panted.

Inan smiled. "It's not over yet."

" _No, it's not_."

Inan could feel the two demons within his grandson and their growing pain. Dirth's time was up in that form. "You needn't push further, Dirth." Inan touched Dirth's face. "Sleep." Light wrapped around Dirth.

For a moment his grandson and the twin demons fought the magic. Then Dirth nodded and closed his eyes. The ravens fell from him as he pitched forward. Golden light wrapped around the three of them. Inan moved the demons onto Dirth and lifted his grandson with the light. He carried him to the wagon.

"Great now I really am a glorified barrier," Falon grumbled. He sat cross legged on the back of the horse. His scythe placed across his lap while he filed a nail. "And Inan's my grandfather, gah, stupid. The old man could have just said something."

Inan chuckled. "You weren't really talkative during those conversations, Falon."

Falon jumped. "I-Inan!" His eyes widened under his mask. "What happened to Dirth?!" He leapt off the horse and raced to met them.

"He exhausted his strength in the fight and the trip to the black city."

"You took him to the black city!" Falon freaked. "It's pull is impossible to escape for us!"

"Almost impossible," Inan pointed out. "He's fine and will sleep off the exhaustion with Fear and Deceit. Sleep well, child."

"Mahvir!" Milliel ran towards them, her mother struggling to keep up. "Is he all right?" She asked, panting as she stopped.

"Just exhausted," Inan told the girl. Mahvir? He turned to Falon. "Are you willing to aid me in clean up of the cult, Falon?"

Falon's eyes glittered under his mask. "Finally! I'm not a glorified barrier."

"I'm here," Henala announced. She huffed, her hands on her knees. "Goodness, I hate running-" Her eyes widened at the sight of Dirthamen. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, mum," Milliel answered. "But what did happen?"

Ian chuckled a little as he rubbed the back of his head. "Well, he and I caught up to Nan as Nan headed for the _aravels_. Dirth stopped time long enough for me to weave this net that would drain Nan's powers. Then we took Nan into the Fade and back into the Black City. Dirth was almost swallowed by it as well, but I pulled him out and we reappeared in the physical world. He and the two spirits were too exhausted so I helped him sleep." Inan frowned. "Then I carried him here. You should know the rest since you were here for it!" He grinned at them.

The two women sported matching looks of shock. They looked at each other before turning back to Inan and Falon.

"You did _what_?" Milliel asked in disbelief.

Inan cocked his head to one side, confused. "I just said what we did."

"And there is a battle going on, perhaps we can leave the old man repeating himself until afterwards," Falon pointed out.

"You're right," Milliel replied. "We need to settle this thing once and for all, or well, _you_ do, along with the other fighters," she said.

"We should worry about Nimwen and the little ones," Henala spoke up. "Are they safe in that wagon?"

"I can keep a barrier over them and you. Take Dirth to the wagon," Inan instructed them. He turned to Falon. "Come on!" He grabbed Falon's wrist.

Falon let out a shocked, pained shout. " _Fenedhis_ , your touch burns!" he snapped.

"You can't run or fly as fast as your brother," Inan pouted.

"Come on then," Henala said. "Milly, dear, why don't you hold those birds?"

"All right," Milliel nodded, scooping up Fear and Deceit in her arms.

"As for you…" Henala bent down and, with little effort it seemed, lifted up Dirth and strung him over her shoulder like he was little more than a potato sack. "You two go on now, we can handle this," the woman said chipperly.

"Let go!" Falon tugged his arms from Inan's weak grip. He rubbed the light burn. "I'll run there. No one carries me!" His eyes flashed with rage.

"Fine, have it your way, little child." Inan leapt into the sky. He slipped through the air as if it wasn't there at all. The sight of the battle came to him far below. It didn't take him long to spot where the bulk of the clan was struggling against the cliff face. Others were moving from the cliff top to try and get around the cult.

Inan shot to the ground. He landed between the bulk of both forces. A golden barrier exploded between the clan and the cult. The barrier blasted the cult away from the clan, passing through all elvhen of the clan without harm.

"Enough!" Inan shouted.

Those who recovered stared at Inan in terror, others in dumbfoundment.

"Who are you?" One called out.

"Enough of this pointless fighting," Inan repeated. "You lot, disbanded and leave." He took a step towards the cult. The light around him pulsed with the heat of his words. The magic twisted into the ground causing fresh life to grow at his feet. "Your overlord is gone. You have no more leaders. Leave and never try to harm the herald again." His voice rose until all could hear him no matter how far back they stood. Even those who were still running along the cliff to rejoin the clan could hear.

"It's the Maker!"

"The Maker Himself has come!"

From the crowd more voices spoke up, until almost all the cultists were joining in. Many kneeled before him, others shouting praises and even more beggin for mercy.

"That's not," Inan started. Well, this wasn't what he had hopped.

A barn owl dove down to Inan's side. A soft light erupted around the owl. The next moment Falon was beside him, still dressed in his ancient armor, crafted by June. His scythe shaft tapped against the ground.

"That was very effective, old man. I think you just set a record for the most people bowing to you and begging for mercy." Falon chuckled a little.

Inan pouted. "I didn't want them to bow!" He turned his gaze back on the cult. "Please, just leave the clan be. They're not to be touched. Leave now!" He added, "Please."

"The Maker has spoken!" One cultist announced.

"His word is law!"

"We leave in the name of the Maker!"

"Praise Him!"

The cultists dispersed like swarming locusts, all proclaiming their love for the Maker as they fled to the trees.

"Ugh," Inan ran his fingers through his hair. "That is the last time I comfort a girl who starts calling me 'maker' in her dreams," he grumbled.

Falon doubled over, laughing as he leaned against his scythe to stop from falling over. "If only Dirthamen and Uncle had seen this," he managed to say through his laughter.

"You're not helping, Falon."

Falon just howled with laughter in response.

"Fine, I'll see to the spirits of the fallen while you howl like a madman."

"What?!" Falon straightened, scythe in hand. "That's my job, old man!"

"Y-you…"

Inan turned and looked at the girl, well, not really a girl, but Inan could see she wanted to be seen as such. Thus she was a girl. "Weren't you with the cult?" Inan asked, head tilted to one side. "Yes, I remember seeing you there."

"She left with me," Falon explained.

"Oh!" Inan smiled at the girl. "My thanks for that then." Inan turned to Falon. "I am going back to the wagon for the braces, I don't like the way people look at me this way."

Falon smirked a little. "The one person all see as a god who doesn't like be seen as a god. You sound like Uncle."

"Well, good at least one of my sons takes after me."

Falon shook his head. "I will see to the dead then. You go do whatever you want to do." Falon moved away from Inan towards the fallen.

Inan watched him go. Sorrow clawed at his heart. He could see the spirits rising from the fallen. Could feel the Veil had weakened here from the battle. He sighed. "Battles always bring nothing but pain," he whispered.

"Please!" The girl called out. "You-you're the Maker, right?" She trudged towards him, her dented armor clinking with each step. "You are, right?" There was desperate hope in her eyes.

She needed this belief. Inan's heart twisted at the sight of her desperation. He then smiled at her and lifted a finger to his lips. "This will be our secret, child." With those words he took to the air and flew back to the wagon to suppress his powers.

* * *

 **Flame:** The twins are born. And Inan gets some bonding time with Dirthy and Falon.

There are only two chapters left after this one. Hopefully a book 3.


	30. Chapter 30

It had taken time for matters to settle among the clan. Most who were injured had gathered outside of Teren's _aravel_. The keeper was busy helping the healer and Dirthamen had been spotted moving between the People to calm them.

Solas watched from a distance. He had left Nimwen to get some more much needed rest. The twins and Lorien were down for a nap, though Lori's nap wouldn't last too long. It had taken a lot of effort on his part to not lay beside Nimwen. He had feared ending up waking her and she desperately needed the rest.

As Solas looked through clan, his gaze fell over Himinan. His-his father was sitting at the very edge of the clan, his pale eyes locked on the injured people. There was a calculated look about his gaze. Faith, or Butter as Himinan called the spirit, was curled up in his lap, her shoulders rising in time to the breath of sleep.

For a long moment, Solas just watched Himinan, then his father's gaze snapped over to him. Himinan blinked and tilted his head to one side. A quick, questioning gesture.

Solas took a deep breath. He hadn't spoken much with the man. He moved over to where Himinan sat. "May I join you?" Solas asked.

While he had walked over here Himinan's gaze had never once shifted from Solas. There was something hidden deep within his pale gaze, buried behind knowledge and pain of lose. A chill crept through Solas. This was the first time in almost eighty-five centuries he was standing before someone older than him. Not just older either, but a life which had spanned more centuries than there were memories in the Fade. A concept Solas had trouble grasping. It was as if he were clinging to a thread of truth hinted at deep within Himinan's eyes.

"You needn't ask, Solas," his voice was calm. The words felt as a river slipping over smooth stone. The same inflections Falon could cause with music, Himinan could inflict upon even Solas with his words.

The tension eased back from Solas. He settled himself beside Himinan. For a long moment they sat in silence, then Solas asked the question which had been nagging him since his earliest memories, "Why did you trust the _banal'ras sa_?"

"I wanted you, Nan, and our people to only know peace in your lives, never the horrors which surrounded war. In my desire and longing for such a future, I allowed myself to become blinded to the threads of truth surrounding the shadow ones." Sorrow wavered within Himinan's voice. "I've regretted not seeing the truth sooner. To never see you and Nan outside of dreams or images Butter sent me."

Solas felt pain jab at his heart. His gaze locked on the _aravel_ Nimwen, Lori, and the twins slept within. To never hold his children, to never be able to physically touch them. No dream, no matter how vivid could replace physical contact. While Solas had first thought Lori wasn't his, upon learning the truth, the world had changed, his world revolved around his children and his love.

"I did join Nalas the night you two were born," Himinan started. "She called to me through her dream and I drew you two into her dream. It wasn't the same as being there, but it was as close as I could get."

Solas looked at him. "The tales which survived said the _banal'ras sa_ killed you."

"I was stabbed through the heart. If I wasn't me, the blow would have killed me. Instead it sent me into a death like sleep. The Fade locked itself to me, healing the damage to my heart. It took eighty-five centuries to get that far." Himinan gave Solas a sad smile. "I never stopped watching over you, even after you left your own dreams to explore the Fade."

The words hit Solas. In his youth he could remember the warmth of a golden light as it followed him around the Fade. There had been times the light wasn't there and as the years turned to centuries, the light had only appeared in brief moments within his memory, each time when Solas had been at a low point.

The day he had gone to Wisdom's normal place in the Fade after its death, the light had been there. Weak and distant, but there. "You never revealed yourself to me," Solas stated.

"I did, in Lori's dream."

Shock struck Solas. "You were the golden figure in the Fade then, calling himself Inan?" Solas sighed. "I should have guessed as much since Nimwen and Faith both call you Inan."

"Inan is the name I have had for as long as I have memory," Himinan stated. "Himinan was the name the People gave when I became their emperor." Himinan - no, Inan sighed. "I understand if you want nothing to do with me. Given all the time which has passed, I have no right to ask to be your father let alone stay with the family."

Solas blinked. This was like him and Dirth, yet, Solas has longed for Dirth accept him as a father and still did at times. Solas looked at Inan. Unlike Solas had for Dirth, Inan had been there for Solas all his life even if Solas hadn't realized it until this every moment. Whereas Solas hadn't known Dirth was his son, and thus eventually written him off as a lost cause, assuming the worst from him.

"You have every right, far more than I did with Dirthamen." Solas looked towards where his oldest was.

Dirthamen had stopped in his work. He was speaking with Milliel and another who was hidden between them.

"If Dirthamen could forgive my failings as his father, then you have every right to stay. Nimwen, would want it as well. And," Solas paused, "though I've never known a grandparent, it did seem like something she wanted for our three."

Inan grinned. "My thanks, Solas."

As Solas watched, Dirthamen turned and started limping towards them. He held Lori's hand and Milliel had the other.

Solas sighed. "She must have woken when I wasn't looking."

"Lorien wanted to help Teren," Dirthamen chuckled when he was close enough to them.

"I help!" Lori proclaimed proudly. She looked at Inan with curiously. "Who you?" She asked.

Inan blinked beside Solas.

"I bet you did a wonderful job helping," Solas smiled at his daughter.

Inan stood.

Faith let out a shocked hiss. She landed on all fours.

As he stood, he shifted into the golden wolf Solas had seen within one of Lori's dreams. He padded over to the girl and sat back on his haunches and gave a soft whine to Lori.

She gasped, her little hands going to her mouth. "Inan!" She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. "You real!" She squealed.

Solas smiled at his daughter. He should never have told Inan to leave her dreams that night. The look of pure joy on her face warmed Solas's heart. He looked towards Dirthamen and Milliel.

"How's the clan holding up?" Solas asked.

"Most are still in shock from the battle," Dirthamen informed Solas. He turned his dark gaze back towards the clan. After Dirthamen had woken, he had used one of his blades to cut his hair and returned to the tattered robes before anyone could take notice of his finer robes. "Too many were wounded. Deshanna is worried the clan will starve with how few are left who can hunt."

Inan looked up from where he had fallen to the ground letting Lori crawl all over his wolf form. There was a deep sadness in his pale eyes.

"The hunters were caught in the tail end of the fighting," Dirthamen explained. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Still, it could have been worse. We only lost a few in the battle proper. Deshanna wants to bury them with Theon at Var Bellanaris. She pointed out we're only a few weeks from there."

Solas bowed his head. "When Nimwen wakes, I'll ask if she wants to travel with the clan for the burial or return to Kirkwall." His heart twisted at the thought of his love. She had slept since giving birth to Fen and Fennir. It had only been a few hours and the twins were sleeping soundly as well.

He turned his gaze back towards the _aravel_ Nimwen was in. Sinderon had helped Solas get her into the _aravel_ without waking her and had settled the twins in next to their mother.

"Inan, guess what!" Lori smiled, oblivious to the grim talk. "I have brothers now! _Mamae_ came back and she brought the babies."

Inan shifted back to an elf. "That you do, little one." Inan touched his head.

"They names Fen and Fenny," she continued. "They little, and kinda ugly."

"Lorien," Solas scolded. "They're only a few hours old." Ugly? They were cute. Solas shook his head. One day perhaps she would see that. Though, perhaps he didn't want that day to come.

Inan chuckled.

Dirthamen smiled. "Well, newborns do tend to be a bit ugly to little ones," he stated.

"They all wrinkly and like little beans," Lori said in her defense. "But I love them 'cause they my brothers. Except when they were cryin' then I don't like them as much."

"That was only when you first met them, _da'vhenan_." Solas drew Lori into his lap.

Inan stood and looked at Milliel. "If you don't mind my asking, lady, who's the father?"

Dirthamen looked at Milliel then at Inan. "That would be me, Inan."

"She gonna have babies too!" Lori said as she fiddled with Solas's necklace. "I hope they no ugly too."

For a moment Inan just stared at Milliel.

"Here it comes," Faith purred.

Inan's eyes widened as a grin appeared on his face. "Great-grandkids!" At once he shot into the air as a humming bird and zipped around Milliel and Dirthamen. He landed on Milliel's shoulder and nuzzled her before shooting off again.

"Inan!" Faith took off and chased the hummingbird around in circles around the pair.

Milliel laughed. "I see you're excited," she smiled.

"Daddy, when _mamae_ gonna wake up?" Lori asked. "I wanna say hi and talk but she still sleepin'."

Just then Faith made a big leap. She pulled Inan to the ground and pinned him by his tailfeathers. "Calm down."

Inan shifted back to an elf and picked Faith up, spinning around. "Great-grandkids!" He hugged the spirit.

"With all this noise, she might wake soon," Solas stated.

Inan kept giving excited chanting shouts. He had slipped into elvish as he danced round and round with the poor Spirit of Faith.

Lori clapped. "Daddy, he funny," she giggled.

Solas hid his head in his hand. It had just hit him this was his father acting more Lori's age than Lori did.

"Well at least our family is a little more interesting," Dirthamen chuckled as he settled himself on the ground. "Embarrassed that's your father, Solas?" Dirthamen teased.

"Of course he is, parents are supposed to embarrass you," Milliel smirked.

"Then Solas falls short there, right, Princess?" Dirthamen asked as he placed his hand on Lori's head. To one of the ravens, Dirthamen asked, "Fear, can you check on Nimwen and the twins?"

Fear had been dozing in a tree. It blinked and looked down at them. "Fine," grumbled the spirit. "Just keep Faith away from me." It flew off.

"You sent Fear?" Solas gazed at Dirthamen with a stern look.

"Mahvy, when my brothers gonna be playing?" Lori asked.

Dirthamen laughed. "Not for another seven months, Princess. That's when they will be at the age to crawl. Ask your parents when you can play with them before that." He tasseled Lori's hair.

 _Thud_ \- Inan collapsed in the grass, breathing hard.

Faith wiggled out from his grasp and collapsed on top of him. "Is the world dancing to anyone else?" the spirit asked.

"What's wrong?" Milliel asked.

Faith put her paw over her eyes. "Make it stop, Inan, it's making me sick."

Inan laughed. "Dizzy is as dizzy does, Butter."

"Your fault for that," the spirit meowed.

"Why you dizzy?" Lori asked. "Did you spin a bunch? I did that and got _sooooo_ spinny, I throw up on aunt Cass."

Inan chuckled. "Yeah, that happens if you eat and spin, Lori." He leapt up. "But five grandkids and three great-grandkids!" he squealed. "Happy, happy day!"

"Yay, happy!" Lori clapped. She tugged on Solas's hands. "Clap, daddy, we happy!"

"I'm more mortified than happy, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas muttered, staring at his father in shock. He had acted so serious moments before and now it was like watching a grown kid.

Dirthamen sighed. "That woke Nimwen."

"Nimwen's awake!" Solas picked up Lori and raced towards the _aravel_ , carrying his daughter in his arms.

*~ X ~*

Was that squealing? Nimwen groaned as she cracked her eyes open. "Solas?" She mumbled. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

" _Da'sulahn._ "

Nimwen turned her head. "S-Sin?" She was fully awake now.

Sinderon sat beside her bed, smiling in relief. "I'm glad you're awake."

"Brother…" Nimwen threw her arms around his neck, hissing at the sharp pain the sudden move caused.

"Don't move too much, sister."

"I missed you so much," Nimwen sniffed.

Sinderon wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her gently.

Nimwen felt something wet on her neck. "Sinderon?"

"I'm so glad you're safe."

The strain in his voice and the sob that followed surprised Nimwen. She'd only ever seen her brother cry once, so it was most concerning. "Sinderon." She cupped his face and forced him to look at her.

A couple of tears were running down his cheeks as he clearly tried containing them.

"It's all right," Nimwen assured him, wiping his cheeks with her thumbs. "I'm okay now."

"Y-y-you all are."

Nimwen's eyes glanced over to the crib near her bed. "Yes, we all are," she nodded, her heart warm.

The door opened and Solas entered. Lori was perched on his hip. " _Vhenan_."

"Hello," Nimwen smiled.

Sinderon quickly wiped his eyes, his face returning to its ever stoic expression. "Solas," he nodded.

Solas set down Lori. He glanced at Sin, expression unreadable then looked at Nimwen, gaze tender. " _Ir abelas_ , Inan was the one who shouted like a child."

"That doesn't surprise me," Nimwen chuckled.

" _Mamae_!" Lori leapt onto the bed and dove into Nimwen's lap. " _Mamae, mamae,_ you wake now!" Lori cheered.

"Careful, Pretty Eyes," Sinderon warned, trying to calm the girl.

Nimwen felt her throat tighten as she hugged her daughter. "Hello, _da'len_."

"I missed you, _mamae._ "

Nimwen sniffed. "Me too, sweetie. I missed you very much." It was hard to maintain her composure. After being separated from Lori for so long, seeing her again, being able to hold her, made it feel like this nightmare was truly over.

Solas smiled and settled himself across from them. " _Ma serannas_ , Sinderon." He nodded to Sin.

"You're welcome," the hunter replied.

" _Mamae,_ I didn't know you were gonna bring _two_ babies."

Nimwen chuckled. "Surprise, _da'len_."

"Daddy told me not to call them ugly no more."

Nimwen sputtered. "What?" She looked up at Solas, brow raised.

A heavy breath escaped Solas and he shook his head. "Lorien," he started, voice a little stern. "Please, don't refer to them as ugly. It's not polite to call your brothers such."

A knock sounded at the still open door.

Nimwen turned her head, and felt her breath still. "Mahvir?"

Mahvir chuckled. " _Aneth ara_ , Nimwen." He didn't enter, instead placed his weight more on his good leg.

Nimwen smiled as her eyes grew misty. "How have you been?"

"Well enough," Mahvir answered. He looked at her with a calm gaze. "There were two matters I came to inform you of. The first is on Falon. He asked I ask you for when you're feeling up to it for him to give his fullest apologies."

Nimwen stiffened, her good mood fading. "So that wasn't a hallucination," she said, voice flat. "He was really outside the wagon?" She turned to Solas. "You let him near me while I was _giving birth_?"

" _Vhenan_ ," Solas started.

"It was my doing, not Solas's," Mahvir interrupted. "I requested Falon guard you and the people. _Ir abelas_ , Nimwen, but if he had meant you harm during the battle, I would have known it." Mahvir bowed his head. "If you must blame someone, it's me."

"I-" Nimwen paused, taking a deep breath as she collected her thoughts. "So you're saying he switched sides, hmm?"

"He did," Mahvir confirmed.

"That's rather interesting. After all, he seemed very certain when he told me what a wonderful puppet I would make him."

Solas paled a little.

"Yes, he does tend to be good at bluffing his emotions or trying to take his father's rage onto himself," Mahvir stated. "You needn't speak with him right away, Nimwen. He's staying with the clan until after you and Solas are bonded then is leaving."

"So, he plans on going through his plans to guide the departed," Solas stated. He nodded. "I'm glad he decided to keep with it."

"I will speak to him, but later," said Nimwen. "I'm far too tired to even think about him right now."

A small cry came from the crib.

"No, bad baby!" Lori scolded.

Solas stood. "Don't scold, _da'vhenan_. He can't help it." He slipped between Sin and the beds to the crib. Solas picked up Fennir and preceded to comfort him.

"There was one other matter I have to bring before you," Mahvir started. "Lady Henala would like to know if when you're feeling up to it, we could have a full family get together." Mahvir chuckled. " _Ir abelas_ to bring this up now. She was quite insistent on this matter."

"That does sound like her," Nimwen chuckled. She glanced over at Solas who was still holding a more quiet Fennir. The sight of her beloved holding their son, it was a sight she'd longed to see for so long, and she couldn't help but smile. "A family get together sounds lovely," she said.

Then Fen started crying.

"Noooo, babies need shut up!" Lori groaned as she covered her ears.

Before anyone could act on this matter, a shout came from outside, " _Hahren_!" One of the hunters stopped outside the _aravel_. "There you are. The keeper and healer are asking after you."

Mahvir turned. "I will be right there," Mahvir stated. He turned back to Nimwen. " _Ir abelas_ , Nimwen. I need to aid the clan." He bowed his head to her and limped off the _aravel_. He was gone before she could react to what had just happened.

"Did he just call him _hahren_?" Nimwen asked. "Since when is Mahvir _hahren_ , what happened to Theon? Did he finally step down?"

" _Da'sulahn_." Sinderon placed his hand on her shoulder. " _Hahren_ Theon, he… passed away."

Nimwen's eyes widened. "What?"

Solas set down Fennir who had calmed and lifted the still crying Fen. "Hush, _da'len_ ," Solas tried soothing Fen.

Nimwen turned to Solas, trying to distract herself from this upsetting discovery. "Give him to me, _vhenan_ , I know a hungry cry when I hear one."

"He need shut up," Lori grumbled.

"Lori, be nice," Nimwen warned.

"But he need be quiet!"

Solas shifted around where Sin still sat and passed Fen to Nimwen.

"He will be quiet in a moment," Nimwen told Lori. She still couldn't believe it. Theon was dead? That seemed almost impossible. He had been _hahren_ since she and Sin were children, when their parents had been children. It never occurred to her that someday he might actually die. She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to break down in front of Lori. "Hold on, _da'len_ ," she told Fen as she pulled down the top of her dress. "There you go," she said as she brought Fen to her breast.

"He quiet now," Lori sighed in relief as the baby started nursing.

"Lori, I'm afraid both of them are going to be crying a lot," Nimwen warned her. "And you complaining won't help. You used to cry too when you were a baby."

"Did not," Lori huffed.

"Oh, yes, you did," Nimwen chuckled. "You would cry and cry until you were red in the face and I was bone tired."

"All babies cry, _da'vhenan_." Solas frowned. "Actually, come to think of it, Dirth didn't cry."

"See _mamae_!" Lori smirked. "Mahvy no cry, so baby brothers shouldn't neither," she said smugly.

Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Lori, that's not how it works."

Solas chuckled. "And that was a double negative you gave there, _da'vhenan_ , meaning they should cry," he teased Lori.

"I don't know what you say, daddy," Lori said, deadpan.

"You don't have to drag me," a familiar voice complained outside the _aravel_. "I can walk just fine on my own." It was Inan.

"Father?" Nimwen called out.

" _Fenedhis!_ She really is awake!"

Nimwen raised a brow. Who was that?

"You're coming with me."

Nimwen watched as Inan was dragged into the _aravel_ by a stranger. "Um, _andaran atish'an_?" she greeted uncertainly.

The man looked at her like he'd seen a ghost. He was an elf who looked to be in his fifties, and while he sported _vallaslin,_ she didn't recognize him from the clan. "Who are you and why are you dragging my father-through-bonding?"

"Um, wow," the man chuckled nervously. "I, well I don't really know how um… this wasn't as awkward in my head."

Nimwen raised a brow.

The older elf stopped his fidgeting, and stared at her. "You look just like Hylea," he whispered.

"How do you know my mother?" Nimwen asked.

"Well, that's because I'm your… how do I put this?" The man cleared his throat. "Who-who's got two thumbs and is your uncle?" The man pointed to himself.

Nimwen's eyes widened.

"This guy," he said with a sheepish smile.

"Uncle Bora?"

"Hey, kiddo."

"Not that I don't mind being held by my hood, but my neck is cramping a little. Can you and the guy with the poisoned blood finish this reunion when I am not choking?" Inan asked in a choked, shaking voice.

"Oh, right, sorry," Bora said as he released Inan's hood.

 _Thud_ \- Inan stuck the floor. "My thanks," he mumbled into the floor.

"So." He turned back to Nimwen. "How are, things?"

Nimwen chuckled. "Things are, they're good," she nodded.

Hesitantly, Bora approached the bed. "Kinda crowded in here," he joked as he knelt by the bed. "Well, take a look at this guy," he smiled.

Nimwen turned Fen, who had stopped feeding a while ago, so that his face was shown. "This is Fen," she said.

Bora looked down at the baby. "Creators, he looks just like your brother when he was born," he sighed, a sad smile on his face. "Is he older or younger?"

"He was the firstborn," Nimwen explained.

Bora nodded, appearing mesmerized. "Wow." He looked up at Solas. "This kids gonna grow up looking just like you, I can tell."

Solas gave Bora a smile and a bow of his head. He then looked at Inan. "How long do you plan to lie like that?"

Butter purred. She had settled herself on Inan's back, eyes closed and a content look on her furry face.

"Until the nug is hidden," Inan whispered. He tugged his hood further over his head so he couldn't see.

"The nug?" Solas looked confused.

"Nummy right here," Lori said, pointing to the nug curled up on his sleeping cushion.

"Father is apparently afraid of nugs," Nimwen said amused.

Butter just purred in response. She kneaded Inan's back with her claws then curled up tighter. Her purr deepened.

"It's a nug," Solas stated. "The worse they do is scare people who look at their feet."

"Nummy best nug," Lori said. She toddled over to the creature and lifted him into her arms.

Nummy gave a soft snort and nuzzled her cheek.

"See? He nice," Lori said as she walked over to Inan.

Inan pulled the hood further over his eyes. "They have no dreams. Dark, empty severed and sundered from the Fade. No threads link them."

"True, they are like dwarves in that aspect. Is that why you're acting this way?" Solas asked.

Butter stood and sniffed the nug. She licked her lips.

"Don't even think about it," Nimwen told the cat.

"Kitty like Nummy?" Lori asked.

Butter gave a soft disgruntled meow. She tugged off Inan's hood and stalked off.

"Butter!" Inan cried. He sat up and stared at the nug, face pale.

"What's wrong?" Lori asked. "You scared? Why? Nummy good. See?" She demonstrated by petting the nug between his ears, to which he squeaked happily.

Inan took a deep breath. "Yes, cute," he muttered. He stood, took a step back, and gave a soft, though strained laugh.

"You could kill us all with a sneeze why in Thedas are you scared of nugs?" Bora asked.

"I wouldn't kill people with a sneeze!" Inan squawked with horror. He then looked at Bora with narrowed eyes. "You know your blood is carrying poison, right? Do you want it gone?"

Bora's eyes widened. "W-wait, what? Are you, you talking about the Taint?"

"If it's the black poison turning your blood black and slowly corrupting your body, then, yup, that stuff. Do you want it gone? It wouldn't take more than a few hours to remove it and heal the damage it's done to your body."

"You can do that?" Solas asked.

"Yes, it's not unlike someone who was close to death with poison I saw before now."

"You can just… clean it?"

"Uncle, are you all right?" asked Sinderon.

Bora clutched his forehead. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He looked like he was going to throw up. "Just… wow."

"Is something wrong?" Nimwen asked. "Do you not want to?"

"It's not that, it's just," Bora sighed. "If I undo the Joining, I wouldn't be a Grey Warden anymore."

"Grey Warden?" Inan's eyes widened. "Your with those who killed," he choked. "They killed." The next moment he was in a corner of the _aravel_ , kneeling and head bowed.

"Okay, now what's wrong?" Solas demanded. "Faith?" he asked the cat.

"He's sulking about the griffons," Butter replied with a lick of her paw.

"My little griffons," Inan whispered.

"What's griffons got to do with anything?" Bora asked.

"Their pain, their madness, seeped deep into the Fade, cries as the poison took their minds, killing them. Slowly killing them," Inan whispered.

"What are you saying?" Bora asked.

Nimwen gazed sadly at Inan as she rocked Fen in her arms.

Inan took a deep breath. "Nothing good comes from the stuff in your blood," he whispered. "Those with it, they used blood magic to place the taint deep into the griffons. Said the griffons were more useful to stop the fourth blight for it. I watched my children scream as their minds were torn apart by the poison. One by one even those not given the poison became affected until one griffon and sole clutch remained." Inan's voice trailed off.

"They did what?" Bora whispered. His face was horrified. "I-I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

Inan stood and took a deep breath. He turned to Bora and the next moment was so close to Bora, their noses were almost touching. His eyes were narrowed again and it looked like he was staring through Bora's eyes.

"A whisper sound calls deep, a few months it will echo through you, pulling you towards the darkness," Inan whispered.

The color drained from Bora's face. "No," he whispered. He chuckled softly. "No, you're wrong. I'm fine. I have plenty of time!"

Inan didn't seem to hear this. His head tilted to one side. "Heart, lungs," he kept muttering under his breath, whispering where the poison was the worst. Then he stopped and moved back. "You sure you don't want it gone?" he asked.

"I…"

"Father, please," Nimwen stepped in. "Give my uncle a moment, you've dumped a lot on him at once."

Inan blinked. "Why would anyone want to keep that poison in them?"

"That is something I've been wondering," Solas muttered.

A soft purr sounded from where Lori was. Butter had stepped onto Lori's little lap and was now looking the girl in the eye with wide, pleading eyes of her own.

"I-I can't just _leave_ ," Bora stammered. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I gave up everything to become a Warden. Thirty years I've worn the armor. I've fought and bled with them. I can't desert my brothers and sisters, and if I'm not a Warden- well what am I?!"

"That's a rather narrow view of yourself," Inan's voice was gentle now, that of a parent consoling a struggling child. "You are more than armor. The fact your were a Grey Warden is only a piece of what made you who you are today, but it's not _who_ you are." Inan paused. "That's like saying Butter is just a Spirit of Faith. It's a piece of her, yes, the core of her nature, but she's far more than Faith. Or saying Nimwen is just the Herald of Andraste. Moments of life help you grow into who you are, but what you've done and served isn't who you are. It's what you are for a moment in time. But you are more than just a warden. You're also an uncle, a Dalish hunter, a jokester, and so much more."

"Uncle Bora's not just uncle," Lori spoke up. "He a great uncle too!"

Bora turned to Lori, his eyes watery. "Thanks, Lori."

"Are you okay, uncle?" Sinderon asked.

"Yeah," he sighed, wiping his eyes. "Perhaps… I'll be the first Grey Warden to retire. Besides Fiona that is, Creators she was good looking."

"Okay," Nimwen said uncomfortably.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" Bora chuckled sheepishly. "Anyways." He looked at Inan. "You can seriously cure me of the Taint?"

"I can," Inan confirmed. "I'm certain the clan would love you to stay as well." Inan smiled at Bora. "Think on it. I can remove it until you hear the the call to the darkness."

"Okay," Bora said. He suddenly grabbed Inan into a hug. " _Ma serannas_ , you loony bastard," he grinned.

"Language," Nimwen warned him.

"Daddy, what a bastard?" Lori asked.

"A question for when you're in your teens I think," Solas stated in reply.

"Oh, she's just too cute," Butter purred. She laid across Lori's lap. "Sorry, Nimwen, but this one is now my new kitten."

"Imma kitty!" Lori giggled, followed by exaggerated meows.

"That you are, _da'len_."

"Why you call Inan daddy?"

Nimwen blinked. "What?" That came out of nowhere.

"You call Inan daddy. How come?"

"Yes, _vhenan_ , why do you call Inan 'father'?" Solas asked, eyebrow raise.

Inan had returned Bora's hug after a moment.

Nimwen blushed. "I- well, he is your father, Solas, but…" How to explain this? "Inan and I became quite close during this, ordeal," she started. "I consider him a close friend as well as a close part of this family, and, well…" Nimwen looked to Inan for help.

Inan was still being hugged by Bora.

Butter purred. "Everyone is one of Inan's children," Butter told them. "While his blood sons will always hold a special place in his heart," - she blinked at Solas - "he still considers most life his child. So he never minded when Nimwen looked to him as a father figure." Butter licked Lori's face. "You have his hair, my kitten."

"I love my hair," Lori giggled as she shook her blonde mane.

"It's from your grandpa," Butter purred and flicked her tail towards Inan. "Same with your eye shape. Your daddy got them from him."

"I can tell," Bora said. "But that color, that is definitely Nimwen's. Same as your father and yours truly," the Warden added with a wink.

" _Mamae_ eyes pretty," Lori said.

"That they are, kiddo. Got them from your great grandma, Thenera."

Inan was seated on the floor. "I hope she didn't get the fact my hair catches on everything," he grinned. "Though from what Nimwen said her brother has that problem too." He blinked at Sin.

Sin looked away, much to Nimwen's amusement.

"I'm just hoping that when the twins are older, their hair doesn't give me as much grief as Lori's does." She looked down at Fen, who was now asleep. She stroked his hair. "Huh, _da'len,_ are you and Fennir going to have wild hair too?" She chuckled.

"If it's too much we could always show them how to put their hair into dreadlocks," Solas stated. He lifted Lori onto his lap to make a little more room in the crowded _aravel_.

Nimwen smirked. "Like father like sons?" She teased.

"Pardon?" Solas frowned in confusion.

"Oh, I sort of shared a memory Butter gave me of you when you had your hair like that," Inan piped up with a smile.

Solas's ears went a little red.

Nimwen's grin widened. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, _vhenan_ , you looked quite fetching in dreadlocks."

Sinderon made a gagging noise.

"Grow up," Nimwen told him.

A knock sounded at the door. " _Ir abelas_ , Nimwen, but have you seen papa?" It was Alaula. "I just checked with Deshanna and she said he was with Teren who said he was with Milliel, who just told me he was here." Her arm was in a sling and several cuts mard her face.

"Are you all right?" Sinderon asked, straightening up. "You got pretty banged up."

Alaula blushed. "I'm fine," she gave Sin a sheepish smile. "I was the one who thought it smart to smash a bottle in a cultist's face."

Inan was looking between Sinderon and Alaula. He then smiled softly and nodded to himself.

"You're brave," Sinderon said. "That stopped the cultist from stabbing Enoa."

Alaula nodded. "But it did set him on fire instead of me." She sighed. "I see papa isn't here though."

"Dirth is by the trees with Falon," Inan told her.

There it was again. Eventually, Nimwen was going to have to face Falon'Din. She had so many things she'd love to say to that man, none of them things she'd ever want Lori to hear. But the others had said he'd changed, didn't they? This put Nimwen in an awkward position. She realized this was just like what transpired between Solas and Mahvir, her trying to get them to see they were on the same side, and the refusing to work things out. Oh, the irony.

Nimwen sighed. " _Vhenan,_ if you don't mind, I'd like you to bring Falon'Din here."

"It's a good thing everyone here already knew he was Falon'Din," Solas muttered. He sighed then asked, "Are you certain, _vhenan_?"

"Yes," she assured him. "Better late than never, is it not? Though, I'd like to request that I talk with him alone."

"Alaula."

"Papa!" Alaula jumped off the _aravel's_ ladder and hugged Mahvir who was only just visible below. "Why did you tell everyone you were with someone else?!" She demanded.

"Because I was coming here after getting Falon," Mahvir explained. "Nimwen," - he looked into the _aravel_ \- "are you certain you're ready to speak with him?"

"I am," she nodded. She looked around at the occupants of the _aravel_. "So, if you all don't mind…"

"Way ahead of you," Bora said, standing. "Come on, family, let's get moving."

"Butter?" Inan asked the spirit.

"Fine," Butter sighed. "Right when I was getting a good nap in too." She stretched and leapt down from Lori's lap. She had been transferred with Lori to Solas by the toddler. She padded after Inan out of the _aravel_.

Solas lifted Lori. "We'll be just outside, _vhenan_."

Nimwen nodded, patting Fen's back when the baby started to fuss. After calming him, she placed Fen in the crib beside his brother, who was still sleeping. Her gaze lingered on her sons, her precious miracles. " _Ma da'fenen_ ," she whispered. She sat back down on the bed, looking at the door.

Falon'Din entered. He no longer wore the fine green robes and armor he had before, but to say his clothes weren't fine would have also been a lie. He wore a plain black mask with stitching of his _vallaslin_ sown into it. His robes were similar to what the keeper would have worn.

The moment Falon'Din was in the _aravel_ , he went to his knees then pressed his forehead to the floor. " _Ir abelas_ , Aunt Nimwen," he started. "I know it will never be enough, given all I've done to you, but my regret is true."

Nimwen sat silently as he gave out his apology, expression unchanged. In some ways, she felt like she was back on her throne in Skyhold, listening to the apologies and regrets of defendants before her rulings. Back then it had been criminals and corrupt nobles bowing before her priceless throne. Now she sat on an _aravel_ bed with a god at her feet.

"Stand up," she ordered.

Falon'Din flinched at her tone. He didn't fully stand, but did lift his head from the ground. His hands and gaze remained on the floor.

Nimwen's eyes narrowed. "Stand up, Falon'Din. I'm going to show you something."

After a moment, Falon'Din obeyed. He looked at her for a heartbeat then down at the ground. "Are the twins all right?" he asked in soft tones. "Dirthamen wouldn't tell me."

Nimwen smiled. "Funny you should ask," she said. She stood and walked over to the crib. "Come here," she said, waving him over with her silverite hand.

Falon'Din hesitated. Then he walked over to the crib.

"I want you to look," Nimwen told him. "Look at these two, aren't they precious?" Nimwen said, keeping the false cheer in her voice. "The one on the left is the younger one, Fennir, and the one beside him is Fen, the older brother," Nimwen explained. "Aren't they just the sweetest babies?" She looked at Falon'Din, still smiling. "Aren't they?"

Falon'Din had stepped back from the crib as she spoke. "I know you don't want me here, Nimwen. You needn't keep a false cheer in your voice."

Nimwen tutted. "Falon'Din, I'm just basking in the joys of my new sons, why wouldn't I be happy?" She chuckled. "You tried to take them from me." At once all cheer fell from her. Her face was stone, her eyes icy. "You were going to take these beautiful boys away from me, and my daughter, all for revenge." She stepped towards him, not fearing his power for one second. "I know you betrayed Elgar'nan to help us, and I'm not lying when I say I am grateful for that, but what you were going to do, to me, to my children, to Solas. I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised when I say I'm still a touch hung up over it." She crossed her arms. "You say you feel regret. Why? Why did you change your mind when before you seemed eager to be rid of me and my children?"

"Shortly after you and Inan escaped," Falon'Din began in hushed tones, "I told him not behead Inan. I defended him and the moment I left Elgar'nan's sight he sent an assassin to kill me for it. It made me realize, no matter what I did or how hard I tried I would never have my father's love." A tear fell from Falon'Din's eyes. "Then I saw Dirth again for the first in twenty centuries," he choked. "I realized all I had been trying to do, the hate for him I had tried to feel were for my father's benefit." He took a deep breath. "I had spent centuries struggling to hate the one person I love, trying to _kill_ him," he whispered. He looked at Nimwen. "Aunt Nimwen, I know what I've done and I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I am simply saying, I will do whatever it takes to bury the person who hurt you."

Nimwen looked into his eyes. The hurt, the sorrow in them. He looked so unlike the man who dragged her from the winter forest. Nimwen sighed. "Let me tell you a story," she began. "There was a man who was a well respected man, an army man. One day he was offered coin in exchange for eliminating a noble's political enemy. He accepted, and ended up killing the man and his family as well. Unintentionally, of course, but none the less it happened. So the man flees, takes a new name, and begins a new life. But, when the old life caught up to him, he owned up to it, even at the cost of his freedom and the respect of those he cared about. I judged this man, this man I'd called my friend, a friend who'd lied to me since the moment we met. He did terrible things, deplorable things, and no amount of friendship could get me to ignore that." Nimwen looked up at Falon'Din. "Yet I couldn't deny that he had done everything he could to make things right. How was he ever to redeem himself and change if I kept whipping him with his past? So I pardoned him from his crimes, and let him continue to find his way to the right path. This man's called himself Gordon Blackwall, but soon he was able to finally embrace his true name, who he really was: Thom Rainier." Nimwen smiled, a true smile. "Sound familiar?"

Falon'Din bowed his head. "It does," he stated. "But coin is rather trivial," he stated with a half smile. Then he glanced towards the door. "Yet, I did betray my dearest brother for the love of a father," he whispered. He looked at Nimwen. "Your sons are lucky to have Uncle as their father."

"I will not lie, though I try to think of myself as merciful, and forgiving, I am a mother first and foremost, and threats to my children are things I cannot easily brush aside. It may take me some time to fully forgive you, however, if you are truly repentant there is something you can do."

"Name it, as long as it isn't killing someone, I will do whatever you ask."

Nimwen took his hand and guided him back towards the crib. "These are your cousins," she reminded him. "As is Lori. Be kind to them, love them, let them see you as a person they adore and not as the man who intended them harm. Let them never know that man. Be their cousin Falon, not Falon'Din the god. Could you do that?"

"I can," Falon'Din said with a nod. He looked at the twins. "Fen, you had better always protect Fennir."

Nimwen chuckled. "And you can make sure to remind him of that." Nimwen watched as Fennir opened his eyes, staring up at the two adults quizzically. " _Ir abelas_ , did we wake you, _da'len_?" Nimwen reached down and let his tiny fingers curl around her finger. "Did you have a nice nap?"

The baby blinked at her, then stared at Falon'Din.

"If I may make a request, Aunt Nimwen," Falon'Din started.

"Yes?"

"I am planning on leaving after you and Uncle are bonded. Would it be all right if I visited the two of you in Kirkwall whenever my travels bring me near? I wish to to guide those spirits who are lost or trapped on this plane to their final resting place," he explained. "I asked Dirth and Keeper Deshanna if I could visit the clan when I am close to them. The keeper gave me a weird look at my request," he stated. "I think that meant it was okay. But I want to make certain it's all right with you if I visit."

"I… I think that would be good," Nimwen nodded. "It's important the children grow up with their relatives, even if it's just visits. You shall be welcome to visit us."

" _Ma serannas_ for everything," - he gave her a smile from under the mask, a gentleness to his voice - " _Aunt_ Nimwen."

Nimwen smiled. "You're welcome, _nephew_." Her eyes glanced around the _aravel_ , trying to think of what to say next. That was when her gaze caught on something familiar. "Is that?" She went over to the shelf. "It is," she smiled, picking up her messenger crystal. "Oh, thank goodness this wasn't lost. Dorian would have killed me!" She said, putting the necklace on.

"Is that a messaging stone?" Falon'Din asked. "I take it Dorian is a friend of yours?" He winced. " _Ir abelas_ for asking."

"Yes, he is, and yes it is," Nimwen nodded. "He is among my closest friends. He had to move back to Tevinter, and so he gave me this before he departed so that we could stay in touch. He gave one to me, and to the Iron Bull as well."

"Was Uncle jealous on finding out?" Falon'Din asked with a soft laugh.

Nimwen chuckled. "Hardly. He knows Dorian and I are friends, not to mention Dorian is not exactly _fond_ of women."

"O-oh," Falon'Din's ears had gone red. "So Iron Bull was more than just his friend." He coughed and looked anywhere but at Nimwen. "I-I should go see if Dirth needs me for anything." Falon'Din turned.

"Wait, hold on," Nimwen said, grabbing his robe. "Listen, Falon, you don't have to be embarrassed."

Falon'Din looked at her over his shoulder. "For what reason would I have to be embarrassed?" His voice was straight, but a flush was still on his ears.

"I know, Falon," Nimwen said, cutting to the chase. "I know you prefer men."

Falon'Din staggered away from her. He shook his head, eyes wide. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. I had mates. Children. I don't prefer men," he stumbled over the words.

"Falon, it's okay," Nimwen said gently. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, but I just wanted you to know that you need not be ashamed."

Falon'Din looked away from her. "I," he swallowed. He looked away from Nimwen. "Please, don't tell Uncle or Dirth."

"I won't, not until you feel ready to," Nimwen promised. "But, Falon, I promise you neither one would be upset with you. It's much different now than it was then. This sort of thing hardly garners the bat of an eye. Well, maybe in Tevinter, but here in the south nobody is bothered by it, and neither would Solas or your brother, I'm sure of it. And if either one did, I'll be sure to give them a good thrashing," she smirked.

"My thanks, Aunt Nimwen." Falon'Din nodded to her. "For everything. I promised Deshanna I would help the departed," he told her. Without another word, he slipped out of the _aravel_.

The next person to enter was Mahvir. He staggered into the _aravel_ not a heartbeat after his brother had left. " _Ma serannas_ for giving him a chance, Nimwen," Mahvir said once the door had shut behind him. He leaned against his cane.

"I'll admit, part of me wanted to tell him to jump off a cliff," she admitted. "But he's trying to do better, and he's family. I have to give him the benefit of a doubt."

Mahvir smiled at her. "For that you have my eternal gratitude." He bowed his head to her. "Also, thank you for telling him it was all right to follow his heart even if he has been running from it."

"Did you know?" she asked.

"I've known since we were teens, Nimwen. It's hard to miss when you walk in on your brother with another man. I figured Falon would tell me when he's ready to."

"Well, that's one way to find out," Nimwen said. "I can tell he has a lot of issues with it. I'm hoping now that he's away from Elgar'nan he can finally come to terms with it. Perhaps I could ask Dorian what I can do to help him?"

"That would be very kind of you, Nimwen." Mahvir gave her a soft smile. "On another matter. I wanted to ask if it would be too awkward for you with me being the _hahren_ at your bonding with Solas. If it is, I can request Deshanna oversee the ceremony instead."

"Are you joking?" She laughed. "You're the _hahren_ now, so you'd better do your job," she teased. "Plus, who better to conduct my bonding than my own son?"

Mahvir chuckled. "That is one way to put it." He paused then said, "I wanted to clear this with you. Solas, well, he is indifferent to it. If I had asked, he would have just cocked his eyebrow in question."

"That does sound like him," she mused. She let out a small smile. "It seems so unreal," she told him. "Our family is all together, and now we have people we didn't before; the twins, Falon, Inan, Uncle Bora." She sighed. "I feel… whole. In a way I haven't in a very long time. And it's all thanks to you," she told him. "Without you I would have never gotten Solas back, I would never have had Fen and Fennir, hell, I wouldn't even have an arm," she said, holding out her prosthetic limb. " _Ma serannas_ , Mahvir," she said, hugging him. "You've truly given me my life back, and I'm so fortunate you're apart of that life."

Mahvir chuckled and returned the embrace with his free hand. "And I am grateful to you as well, Nimwen. You got Solas and I to try and be a family again. Accepted the fact Milliel and I are together and helped me understand I didn't have to continue being alone." He paused and shook his head. "I promise after our family splits again, I will visit whenever the clan is near to Kirkwall. But I can't leave the clan now, not as their _hahren_ and I would never ask Milliel to live in a human city again."

"I understand," Nimwen said, knowing how poorly Milliel and Henala had been treated before they joined the clan. "And I will do my best to have us visit as well, though it might be hard until the twins are a touch older."

"Not to mention the triplets," Mahvir chuckled. "Ah, yes, you wouldn't know. Milliel is expecting triplets. One boy, two girls."

"What?!" Nimwen squawked. "Three?! That's madness!"

Her yells ended up waking the twins.

" _Fenedhis,_ " she grumbled as she picked up a crying Fen. "Can you take Fennir?" She asked as she patted Fen's back rocking back and forth.

Mahvir left his cane by the door and moved to the crib. He picked up Fennir. " _Ir abelas_ , Nimwen. It is better for you to learn now than when Milliel gives birth. I know you wouldn't have reacted well if I kept it from you. Just, do me a favor, don't tell Henala. She's been overbearing with Milliel with the idea of one grandchild. Three," he trailed off.

"Say no more," Nimwen agreed, knowing full well what would happen if Henala caught wind of it. "Just don't complain when she's nagging you over not telling her."

"Her nagging I can handle. Your disapproval, now that's another matter entirely." Mahvir replaced a calmed Fennir back into the crib. "I'm just grateful Solas accepted Inan, otherwise I would have to follow grandfather and nag him until he stayed."

"I'm grateful as well," Nimwen said as Fen finally quieted. "I've noticed Fen is much louder than Fennir," Nimwen said as she placed the baby by his brother. "I wonder if that will remain when they're older," she mused.

"It will," Mahvir said with a chuckle. "He's the one to keep an eye on." Mahvir gave her a little wink.

"A wild child, huh?" Nimwen smirked. "What are the chances of Fennir being calm and reasonable?"

Mahvir coughed.

"Does that cough say, _'Why yes, Nimwen, he will be a totally behaved little angel!'_ "

"Since Milliel isn't here I can say this." Mahvir took a deep breath. "Fen, Fennir, Diantha, and Anira, will be in and out of trouble together or apart their entire lives." He paused. "Diantha and Anira are Milliel's and my girls," he explained.

"Those are lovely names," Nimwen smiled. "You must be so happy."

"That the four will be troublemakers?" Mahvir joked. He cleared his throat. "I am very happy." Then he stated, "And you are very tired. I should return to Teren as it is."

"Agreed, and I need to get some rest before my little darlings start screaming again."

* * *

 **Flame:** Finally, we are almost to the end. There is only one chapter remaining now.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notice:** Book 3 is on its way. It will be posted on Herenyahope's account.

* * *

"I want help!" Lori insisted.

Nimwen heard Henala chuckle from behind her. "I'm sure you do, _da'len_ , but I'm almost done."

" _Ma serannas,_ Lori, I appreciate you wanting to help," Nimwen smiled at her daughter.

"Aaaand there! All done!" Henala clapped.

"Oh, _lethallan,_ you look so pretty," Milliel said.

"I'd hope so," Nimwen joked, standing up. She could feel the forget-me-nots Henala had woven into the braided crown the older woman made of her hair. It was relatively simple, as Nimwen wasn't the flashiest of women, but she still admired Henala's work. " _Ma serannas_ ," she said to her.

"No trouble, dear," the older woman smiled.

"You nervous?" Milliel asked.

"A little," Nimwen admitted. "You'd think after facing down darkspawn and contending with the Empress of Orlais that this would be nothing," she said with a nervous laugh.

"There's no shame in being nervous, dear," Henala assured her. "Marriage can bring a shake to anyone's knees. Why I'm sure that your man's just as nervous as you are."

Nimwen snorted. "I doubt it."

"Please, he's nervous too," Milliel agreed. "But you know what? I was nervous too, but, once you get there you're just going to be so happy, you'll almost forget how much you have to throw up!"

"Thank goodness I skipped breakfast," Nimwen muttered.

" _Mamae_ you so pretty!" Lori said from her seat in Milliel's lap.

"You are, your dress is even better than mine," the redhead smiled.

Nimwen smoothed down the skirt of her dress. It was actually the dress she'd worn to Halamshiral, or what was left of it anyways, that she'd repaired and modified with a few twists. The body was shimmering satin, the color of a robin's egg. Much of the long flowing train was ruined during the fight at Halamshiral, but she'd managed to keep it just to her ankles. While strapless, over the gown was a deep blue sheer cape trimmed with fennic fur and pinned in the center with a sapphire brooch given to her by Dorian on her last birthday.

Her bangs were pulled back, showing off her blue _vallaslin._ For a while Nimwen had grown to despise the markings on her forehead, and planned on asking Solas to remove them. However, she'd found that her malice towards the marks had faded over time. While she disliked their legacy, they were still a part of her. She would no sooner part with them than she would the many scars littering her body.

"You look like you should be gracing the halls of Arlathan," Henala cooed.

Nimwen chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far."

" _Mamae_ look like a magic princess," Lori said.

Nimwen grinned and scooped up her daughter. "But I thought _you_ were the princess," she teased.

Lori giggled as she was spun around. "We both princess!"

"Well, all right, princesses, we'd better get started," Henala reminded them. "You have your _eth'enansal_?"

"It's right over there."

"I've got it," Milliel said, picking up the blanket.

Nimwen put Lori down and took the _eth'enansal_ from the huntress.

"Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Nimwen replied to her friend. She reached out and gave Milliel a hug. "Thank you for helping me, both of you."

The redhead returned the embrace along with Henala.

"You're going to do wonderfully, Nim," Milliel said.

"You go, _mamae,_ " Lori said, hugging her legs.

Nimwen felt herself grow emotional, but swallowed the feelings back. "Okay, let's do this," she smiled.

"After you, ladies," Henala said, opening the door.

Nimwen looked to Milliel, who was giving her an encouraging grin. "Come on, then. Shouldn't keep them waiting." Nimwen took Lori's hand and led her out of the _aravel._

*~ X ~*

A weight slammed down onto the Sola's back. The ground bit into his kneels a heartbeat later.

"We're getting an aunt!" Knuckles rubbed Solas's head. "Well, officially. It only took you eighty-five centuries to find someone who wasn't taken."

"Falon'Din!" Solas snapped. Solas rolled, trying to dislodge his nephew. All this did was cause Falon to clung all the harder. "Get off," Solas snarled.

The next moment Solas was pressed to the ground by Falon. "Ah, but that takes all the fun out of it, Uncle."

"Yes, please get off of Solas, Falon." Dirthamen was moving in the back of the _aravel_. The four members of their family were within the _hahren's aravel_ which had become Dirthamen's after Theon had been laid to rest a few days prior. From the floor, Solas couldn't see what his oldest was doing.

"Dirth," Falon whined, sounding more like a three-year-old than Lori did.

Solas shot his arm back in a short, quick jab to Falon's gut. Falon let out a shocked shout of pain while Solas felt his eyes water. His nephew's body was all muscle mass.

"What are you looking for, Dirth?" Solas asked as he stood and rubbed his elbow.

"Something more formal than what you're currently wearing." The sound of Dirthamen struggling to his feet followed.

Falon'Din leapt to his feet. "I have formal wear that would look wonderful on Uncle Solas. You should have just asked."

"No," Solas declined. He knew what Falon'Din's vision of formal meant, no room to breath or have his body bare. Neither of which was an option Solas was willing to take.

"You're not wearing your armor to a bonding ceremony!" Falon'Din wagged his finger at Solas.

Dirthamen coughed. He had settled himself on the bed beside Inan.

"Why not?" Solas countered. "Dirthamen did."

"Well, Dirth looks like a knight when he wears armor. You look like you're the villain of the story." Falon'Din folded his arms across his chest. "You need something far more dashing. Something that doesn't scream 'Children, fear me, I am your worst nightmare!'"

Solas cocked an eyebrow at his nephew. "Pardon?"

"Well, that's what you look like in your full armor!" Falon'Din turned to Dirthamen. "Come on, Dirth, you agree, right?"

"I am not being dragged into this," Dirthamen stated.

Inan chuckled. He held one of the twin boys. The other was in the crib which would be given over to the triplets when they were born. "Here, Dirth, hold Fen." Inan passed the baby over to Dirthamen. "This is a job for me to fit. Is there any cloth and hide I can use?" Inan pulled up his sleeves. "We don't have to make a full outfit, but I can at the very least make formal vest."

"There is some in the bottom drawer. Halla hide," Dirthamen added the last bit. He stood and used the wall to limp over to the crib. He settled Fen beside his brother. "I must join the keeper," he stated. "I'll just have to live with being surprised with what you come up with for Solas."

Solas snorted at this while Falon'Din chuckled. "Right, _surprised_." Falon'Din grinned.

Dirthamen ignored his twin and limped from the _aravel_.

All through this, Inan had been humming to himself as he gathered materials from the drawer. The hide was being stitched together even as Inan looked for more to use. "There!" Inan leapt to his feet, a vest held in his hands.

Solas cocked an eyebrow at the older elf. "Really?"

"Falon, there should be a green shirt in the bag. I got it on the way here," Inan cheered. "It will look great with this."

Solas got into the newer clothes. The vest was white from the soft halla hide, golden thread, really the only thread Inan had, made leaves through the collar and vest porper. The vest came down on the shoulders to mimic leaves as did the longer tail coat part of the vest. Over all, Solas thought it looked rather ridiculous, but he supposed since Falon looked rather pleased and Inan was grinning a little broader it would do.

"Let's get this over with," Solas muttered. He left the _aravel_ and moved to where Dirthamen stood beside the keeper for the ceremony.

*~ X ~*

Milliel had taken Lori to join her and Henala in the audience, leaving Nimwen to walk alone. With her _eth'enansal_ draped over her folded arms, Nimwen made her way from the _aravel_ to the ceremony.

The clan turned to look at her as she slowly proceeded down to where Solas and Mahvir stood.

Nimwen breathed steadily, eyes trained in front of her. When her eyes found Solas, she felt her heart stir. She'd half a mind to expect him to be in armor, but instead he had donned a lovely vest she hadn't seen before. It was far from extravagant, but to her he looked like the handsomest elf in all of Thedas. She fought to keep the tears back as she stopped beside Solas. She turned to him, smiling in an effort to not cry.

From the audience she could hear Lori start calling out happily to her and Solas, followed by her brother and uncle shushing her. She chuckled, still looking at Solas.

Mahvir looked between them. He lifted his hands, a gentle smile on his face. "This day," he started the traditional words Nimwen had heard spoken by _Hahren_ Theon so many times before now, "we celebrate the bonding of two elvhen. Such bondings speak of the devotion two of our People have to one another and ensure the continuation of our People to next generation.

"On this day, Nimwen of Clan Lavellan and Solas join together." Mahvir bowed his head to them.

Nimwen held out the _eth'enansal._ "With this gift, made by my hand I give you my love and protection, as I shall our blood to come." She had the urge to snicker at the phrase 'To come' given the three children sitting in the audience. She draped the blanket over his shoulders, and proudly spoke the traditional verse. " _Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris._ " She could have sworn she heard somebody start to cry. She couldn't tell if it was Bora or herself.

"From the bow of a hunter, I've proven able to provide for you and our blood." There was nothing on the 'to come' part when Solas spoke. He jumped straight to repeating the vow she had said, " _Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris_." There was a slightest hint of amusement in his eyes as he repeated the phrase.

The smile on Nimwen's face was wide enough to hurt her cheeks, but she didn't care.

"May Sylaise bless your children with safety and Mythal watch over you both," Mahvir's words were the signal was all right to kiss Solas to close the ceremony.

The tips of Solas's ears were a little red all ready.

Nimwen chuckled as she leaned in and pressed her lips to Solas's.

Around her she heard the clan burst into applause and what was _definitely_ her uncle crying.

"Well done," Mahvir whispered to them. "Now, the clan has something happy to celebrate." He limped over to where Milliel stood with Henala.

Solas chuckled, his ears still flushed from the kiss.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Nimwen whispered. _"Ar lath ma, vhenan._ "

Solas's expression softened. " _Emma sa'lath, ma vhenan'ara_ ," his voice was soft, almost tender in response.

This time Nimwen didn't even try and stop the tears as she threw her arms around his neck.

" _Mamae_! Daddy!"

Nimwen felt a little body come up and tackle their legs.

"You too married now!"

"That we are, _da'vhenan_." Solas scooped Lori into his arms.

Music had started up already as the clan made the final preparations for the evening of celebration. Happy chatter filled the air as the people moved about, gathering what food the hunters had brought in from the Dirth earlier.

"Shall we join them, _vhenan_?" Solas asked as he gestured to one end of the camp. There, Mahvir sat beside Milliel, Sinderon, Henala, Inan, Falon, and Bora. The twins were with them.

"No, I was thinking we could run away into the sunset without a word." Nimwen rolled her eyes. "Of course we should."

"I wanna see brother," Lori said from Solas's arms.

"Which one?" Solas tapped Lori's nose before taking Nimwen's hand in his.

"Oh yeah…"

Nimwen chuckled. "Did you forget you have three brothers now?"

"No!" Lori pouted. Suddenly her eyes widen. "Wow, that's a lot of brothers!"

"Hopefully not all of us are too big a pain," Mahvir teased. They had drawn close enough for him to have heard Lori. "I also hope, Solas remembers you two get the first dance this evening." Mahvir gave Solas a soft smile.

Solas coughed. "I hadn't forgotten, thank you, Mahvir."

"How long has it been since we've danced, _vhenan_?" Nimwen asked. "It seemed likes a lifetime."

"I want dance too," Lori spoke up.

"After your parents dance, Princess," Mahvir told her. "Why don't you help me make certain our little brothers are behaved?"

Through all of this, Inan had kept his hood up and head bowed.

"Okay," Lori agreed. She peered over at the two infants. "You hear, babies? You shut up, 'kay?" she asked sweetly.

"Tell them nicely, _da'vhenan_." Solas placed Lori into Mahvir's lap. " _Ir abelas_ ," he apologized.

Mahvir chuckled. "I will request she move when I need to get up," Mahvir laughed. The words made Nimwen realize Mahvir hadn't carried Lori once since her return to the clan.

Shaking the thought from her head, Nimwen turned to Solas. "Care for a dance, _vhenan_?" She asked.

Solas bowed to her and offered her his hand. "That should have been my line, _ma vhenan_. I would love a dance."

Nimwen smiled as she took his hand.

Solas led her to where the ground had been cleared away from dancing. He turned her in his arms and took to the soft music in a heartbeat. His lead was strong and graceful, the same as it had been at the winter palace.

"So, how do you feel?" Nimwen asked as she followed his lead.

"About?" Solas raised his brow at this.

"You know, being a happily married man, four children, in-laws and relatives to contend with," Nimwen chuckled.

"Yes, contending with my brother was wonderful," Solas stated in dry tones. He smiled, tone changing to a happier one. "Happy would sum up my feelings, _vhenan_."

"I would say the same. Yet, somehow, happy just doesn't seem enough to summarize it all." Nimwen sighed and rested her head on Solas's chest. "This isn't at all what I pictured my life turning out, but I don't regret it one bit, Solas." She smiled up at him. "You're the best thing to that could have happened to me."

"You and our children are my world, my anchor," Solas whispered.

Nimwen nodded. "Yes." No matter what life threw at her, so long as her children were safe and happy, Nimwen had nothing to fear. "Speaking of which, how many more do you think we should add to the pack? I was thinking ten," she teased.

Solas coughed, he missed a beat in the dance which was odd for him. "Ten, _vhenan_?"

Nimwen burst into laughter. "You should see your face," she snickered.

Solas huffed a little. "Yes, well," - he cleared his throat - "shall we not joke about _that_ many children. Three is enough." He paused. "Well, four including Mahvir, though he is grown."

"Of course, Solas," Nimwen agreed as they fell back into dancing. "Though, just for the record, I'm putting the limit at seven."

Solas chuckled. "I will put a limit on five," he stated.

"Six," she haggled.

"Only if the last set is twins once more, _vhenan_."

"You have a deal. Should we shake hands on it?"

"In the middle of a dance?" he questioned.

"No, silly," she chuckled. She sighed happily. "I love you, _vhenan_."

" _Ma'arlath_ ," Solas replied.

Nimwen was about to respond when she felt something tug on her dress.

" _Mamae_ , I dance with daddy now?"

Nimwen looked up at Solas, an amused smirk on her face. "Ready to swap me out?"

"Never," Solas whispered so only Nimwen could hear, louder her continued, "but for _ma da'vhenan,_ I will make an exception."

"You and daddy have fun, _da'len_." Nimwen told the girl. "I'll be with the others if you need me."

"Okay, _mamae_ ," Lori nodded.

Nimwen kissed Solas's cheek before retreating from the dance floor. Nimwen found a spot between Milliel and Sinderon and sat down.

"Oh, look how sweet they are?" Milliel cooed.

Nimwen looked over at Solas and Lori.

"Looks like you were ousted by your own daughter, Aunt Nimwen," Falon'Din chuckled. He blinked at her before turning his gaze on Mahvir. "Though, it's not shocking she got away from brother. He was out a few minutes after you two left."

Sure enough, Mahvir was leaning against the _aravel_ , his eyes closed and breathing even.

"Shall I wake him?" Falon'Din grinned mischievously.

"No, no, no!" Inan leapt to his feet. "He was up since before dawn helping the keeper, let him sleep, Falon!"

"Yes, please do," Milliel agreed.

"Back when I was a trainee with the Wardens, you _never_ let your guard down, even when sleeping," Bora said. "Otherwise you'd wake up with drawings on your face, or your mattress lying outside."

Falon'Din blinked. "I think I will pass on drawing on my brother's face again." He turned to Inan. "By the way, what was with the tears earlier?"

"Hmm?" Inan tilted his head to one side.

"Aha! See I told you it wasn't me crying," Bora smirked at Sinderon.

"Uncle, I'm fairly sure I heard you crying," Nimwen chuckled.

"Come on, Nimmy, back a guy up."

"You were crying, dear?" Henala asked Inan. "There's no shame in getting emotional you know."

Inan chuckled. "Oh, I am far from ashamed. She's now my only daughter." Inan paused. "Well, only daughter who knows I exist. I don't really know if I want to meet my other daughter."

' _Mythal,'_ Nimwen thought to herself. Quite frankly she didn't know what would happen if Inan ever met Mythal, or Flemeth to be specific. She imagined it would be a very interesting meeting, though whether good or bad she was uncertain.

"Sister," Sinderon spoke up. "One of the little ones is growing restless."

"Hand him here," Nimwen said. As her brother handed her the baby, she saw that it was Fennir who was growing fussy. "There, there," she shushed as she rocked him on her shoulder.

"Ever thought you'd have babies at your wedding?" Milliel smirked.

"There a lot of things I didn't think would be at my wedding," Nimwen retorted.

"Like extended family on your mate's," - Falon'Din frowned - "sorry, husband's side? Or-"

Inan slapped his hand over Falon'Din's mouth. "Stop talking."

"What was he about to say?" Milliel asked, brow raised.

"He was going to keep talking about Solas's side of the family, I just know it!" Inan eyed Falon'Din. "So no, bad grandson."

Falon'Din made an angry sound from behind Inan's hand.

Nimwen chuckled. "Well, to answer your question, no, I didn't expect to have such an extended family," Nimwen turned to Bora. "Or to have some of my own here as well."

The older elf smiled. "I'm glad I could be here,"he said, patting her shoulder. "And I know that Virdin and Hylea would be so proud of you right now."

"Thank you," Nimwen replied. The mention of her parents made her heart ache some, but the sound of her family around her and the feel of her son in her arms made the pain fade almost as quick as it came.

"Say, isn't that the girl who came to the clan with you?" Milliel asked Falon'Din.

Nimwen followed Milliel's finger and, sure enough, there was Arla, for once out of her armor and lingering near the dancing area. "Huh, why doesn't somebody ask her to join us?"

"Why doesn't Falon'Din ask her to dance?" Milliel countered, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Ah, I will pass on the dancing, but I will ask her to join us." Falon'Din stood and crossed to where Arla stood.

"Whoa!" Inan caught someone who had been sneaking towards Mahvir. "I thought you were dancing with Solas, little flower."

"Why big brother sleepin'?" Lori asked. "It's dance time, not nap time!"

"Let him sleep," Inan told her. "He will get little in five weeks, or so I predict." Inan turned to Milliel and gave her a soft knowing smile.

"Are you excited?" Nimwen asked her.

"Oh, you know, excited, terrified. The words are basically synonyms," Milliel said with a nervous laugh.

"You'll be fine," Nimwen assured her, adjusting Fennir so she could give her friend a one-armed hug.

"Well, if they're half as cute as your boys, I'll have nothing to worry about," Milliel replied.

"What's this about 'they?'"

Milliel's eyes widened as the blood drained from her face.

"Milliel?"

The huntress sent pleading glances Nimwen's way.

"Milliel Suren Lavellan."

"A figure of speech, Lady Henala, nothing more or less." Mahvir straightened on the other side of Milliel. He rubbed his eyes before he gave Henala one of the most charming smiles Nimwen had ever seen. " _Ir abelas_ for falling asleep." He bowed at the waist. "It wasn't my intention to do so."

"Oh," Henala began to laugh. "Forgive me, for a second there I could have sworn you meant you were having twins!"

"Y-yeah," Milliel faked laughed. "Boy, mum, you sure do have a crazy imagination."

"Don't I? I shouldn't have even thought such a thing. If you were having twins, why, you would have told me ages ago."

"Uh-huh," Milliel nodded uneasily.

"I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful girl," Henala told everyone. "I know that she would never lie to me."

"Yup," the redhead squeaked.

Nimwen was sure she saw sweat on her temples.

"To think I almost thought she'd kept something like that from me. Twins, ha! The very idea is ridiculous-"

"Trip-"

" _Ma sulahn'nehn_." Mahvir moved behind Milliel. His hand on her shoulder. "I do believe both of us should turn in for the night. You must be tired and I certainly know I am." He used the _aravel_ to get to his feet and bowed to Nimwen. "My apologies for the early turn in, Nimwen. We'll speak more in the morning." He somehow helped Milliel to her feet. "Come, _sulahn'nehn_."

The whole time Nimwen had to restrain her laughs at the expression on Milliel's face. The redhead looked like she'd just walked into a room full of pride demons as she was led away by Mahvir.

"Hmm, I didn't even notice she was tired," Henala mused, oblivious as usual.

" _Mamae,_ I hold baby?" Lori asked.

Nimwen was unsure. She doubted Lori would try and hurt Fennir, but she was still a three year-old. "Da'len, your brothers are very delicate."

"I wanna try though," Lori whined. "Pleeeease, _mamae_?"

Inan moved over to the girl and lifted one of the toys Lori had brought with her to the ceremony. "Why don't I show you how to hold a baby first, little flower? Can you hold her just like how your mother is holding Fennir?" Inan asked. "Perhaps once your mother sees how careful you are with your doll you can hold your brother." Inan gave her a soft smile as he passed her the doll.

"Okay," Lori nodded. The toddler took her doll and cradled it in her arms. "Like this?"

"You need to have a hand holding her head, _da'len_ ," Nimwen reminded her.

"Remember, your brothers can't hold up their heads on their own yet. They're not strong enough. You have to support them for them, but not to hard, just hold your hand like this." Inan cradled his arms and showed her one hand where the baby's head would have been. "Can you copy me, little flower?"

Lori nodded adamantly, mimicking the way he held his arms. "Like this?"

"Better," Inan said with a smile. "It might feel funny with your little arms, but try to get your hand right here." He tapped the back of the doll's head. "Your arm can then support his head a little better."

"Okay!" Lori turned to Nimwen. "See, _mamae_? I do it."

"That you are," she nodded.

"I believe, as long as she's seated she can hold Fennir," Inan stated.

"What's this about holding Fennir?" Solas arrived then. He was balancing three bowls of soup.

"I wanna hold baby brother," Lori said proudly.

"It's better than telling them to shut up," Bora smirked.

"Are you sure you want to, _da'len_?" Nimwen asked.

Lori nodded quickly.

"I don't see a problem with it," Solas stated. He settled himself where Mahvir had been before. "Even if she did drop him, she's close enough to the ground seated it won't harm him."

"Please, let's not talk of dropping," Nimwen said. She sighed. "All right, Lori, sit down and I'll put him in your arms."

"Yay!" Lori seated herself and put her doll beside her.

Carefully, Nimwen placed Fennir in the girl's arms. She made sure that Lori was holding him properly before letting go. "Try not to move him too much, _da'len_ ," Nimwen said, feeling nervous.

"He so little," Lori whispered, staring fascinated at her little brother. "Which one is he?"

"This is Fennir. He has the light blue blanket. Fen has the dark blue one," Nimwen explained.

"Hiya, Fenny," Lori said to the baby. "You cute when you no cry."

The infant stared up at the girl almost quizzically. He made a small babble noise as his little hand prodded her arm.

Lori gasped, smiling as she look up at her parents. "He talk to me!" She grinned.

Solas smiled.

"So that's how you've been telling them apart," Falon'Din reappeared just then. "I guess it's better than the way my mother told Dirth and I appart. I was the strong one and Dirth was the sickly one."

Solas scowled at this.

"What? It's the way she told me, she told us apart."

"Yet, Dirth was the one who crawled and walked first."

"Yeah, he was," Falon'Din stated though his ears were pink. "Don't remind me my little brother was first."

"Little? You're the same age," Solas's scowl depended.

"Well, your father's little brother." Falon'Din smirked.

"I'm his same age!" Solas snapped.

"Oh, Arla, wasn't it?" Henala asked the woman standing behind Falon'Din. "So good to see you, and nice to see you out of that armor.

"I-um, thought it wouldn't be best to wear it to a wedding," Arla explained. She wore a simple button up blouse and trousers with elven style leggings. Her hair was out of its signature bun and put in a simple side braid.

" _Mamae,_ can I hold Fen too?" Lori asked, hopeful.

"One at a time, _da'vhenan_ ," Solas ruffled Lori's hair a little. "How about you let your grandfather hold Fennir so you can eat supper instead?"

"Okay, bye bye, Fenny," Lori said as she handed Inan the baby.

"Careful, please," Nimwen pleaded.

Inan took Fennir from the girl. He smiled as he held the baby. "You know this is the first time I held him since he was born. He's a lot cuter without the blood."

Nimwen snorted. "I agree."

"What blood? Why he have blood?" Lori asked. "Did Fenny get hurt?"

Inan chuckled. "No, not hurt, born. Big difference." He smiled at Lori. "I'll explain when you're a little older."

Fennir made a mewling noise as he tugged at Inan's sleeve.

Nimwen smiled at the sight as she took the bowl of soup from Solas.

Inan grinned. "Yup, he's definitely cute."

"Mhm," Lori agreed around a spoonful of soup. "He my favorite now."

"Lori, you shouldn't pick favorites," Nimwen reminded her daughter.

"But he talk at me."

"And Fen would talk at you as well if you held him," Solas informed her. "For now focus on eating." He smiled at Nimwen, expression the softest she had ever seen it.

"Okay, this is getting mushy," Falon'Din muttered. "I am bowing out." He walked off.

"As will I," Arla added. She stood and bowed to the group. "Though, I haven't much since arriving, you all have been most hospitable, to which I am grateful."

"We're glad to have you," Nimwen responded.

"Shame Falon will be leaving early tomorrow," Inan whispered as he watched Arla following Falon. He shook his head. "When you return to Kirkwall, would you mind if I visited? I am planning on moving between all three of my family's locations. Falon might need help with the dead at times and I would love to see my great-grandkid." He turned his smile on Henala. "As long as you don't mind sharing your grandkid, my lady?"

"Oh, not at all," Henala laughed. "It will do the baby good to have more family around."

"You're welcome to stay whenever you'd like, Inan," Nimwen replied. "We have plenty of rooms. Varric made sure of that."

"Thank you! Both of you." Inan's grin widened.

"Why do I feel like we just signed a contract?" Solas muttered. Then shook his head. "It will do them good, but don't spoil them like I've read other grandparents do."

"But then what's the point of being a grandparent?" Inan pouted.

"Fine, but Dirth already spoils Lori."

"I can't make toys. Didn't even know what a toy was until Dirth explained them," Inan pointed out. "I can spoil them with treats and foods that I know from every nation I've visited!"

"You could?" This seemed to peek Solas's interest.

Nimwen shook her head.

"Treats?" Lori's head tilted up. Half her face was covered in soup from her licking the bowl.

Inan chuckled. "Yep."

Solas took a cloth and wiped off Lori's face. "There, you're pretty again. Just like your mother." He gave Nimwen a smile.

Nimwen smiled in return, feeling a warmth in her chest.

" _Mamae_ really pretty," Lori said. "Will babies be pretty like _mamae_ too?"

"No, the twins will be handsome though, just like their father," Nimwen replied.

Solas ears turned pink.

"You made him blush," Inan chuckled. He looked at the little one in arms. "Looks like Fennir's just about ready for a nap."

"Yes, and I think it's time this one went to bed as well," Nimwen said, pointing to Lori.  
"I no tired," Lori insisted even as she yawned.

"Time for bed, Pretty Eyes," Sinderon spoke up.

"No tired," Lori mumbled.

"Come now, _da'vhenan_ , think of all the wonders you will dream of tonight and all the fun you will have in those dreams." Solas stood. He picked Lori off the ground. "You wouldn't want to rob yourself of those little dreams, now would you?" He tapped her nose.

"N-no," Lori grumbled.

"Come along, _da'len_ ,"Nimwen said as she stood. She walked over to Inan. "I'll take him off your hands now."

Inan passed her Fennir. "May their and your dreams be guarded, Nimwen."

" _Ma serannas_ , Inan." Solas nodded to him.

" _Ma serannas,_ " Nimwen added. She placed Fennir in the basket beside his brother. "Solas, do you have Lori?" She asked as she lifted the basket.

"I do." Solas wrapped his free arm around Nimwen's shoulder. "Good night," he told Bora and Sinderon. He then guided Nimwen towards their _aravel_.

"This is it, the five of us," Nimwen said, looking at her family. She looked up at Solas. "I still can't believe this isn't a dream, it seems too good _not_ to be a dream."

"Let's hope your dream lasts the rest of our lives then." Solas squeezed her shoulders in a quick embrace.

"Let's hope," she agreed.

* * *

 _Emma sa'lath, ma vhenan'ara_ \- my one love, my heart's desire

 _Ma'arlath_ \- my love

* * *

 **Flame:** What was said "On this day, Nimwen of Clan Lavellan and Solas join together." Should have been said: "On this day, Nimwen of Clan Lavellan and Solas of clan creators join together" I am joking XD

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed us for the past two books. We look forward to seeing in book 3!**


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